


mon chéri

by ophelialilies



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Paris, Implied Sexual Content, Life Drawing, M/M, Mark is an art student, Modelling, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, donghyuck is a fashion student, markhyuck, set in paris at a design academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:54:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23699617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ophelialilies/pseuds/ophelialilies
Summary: Donghyuck volunteers to model for the art students' life drawing lessons. what he doesn't expect is to become enamoured with one of the students, a talented boy with dark, unruly hair and pretty eyes.(or, Mark, the artist, and Donghyuck, the muse, fall in love in paris)
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 358
Kudos: 879





	1. un

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello lovelies, I was supposed to visit paris again in july but now I can't, so I wrote this instead !! :)
> 
> for the best experience I suggest listening to this [soundtrack](https://open.spotify.com/album/3QMOVTfwazGKLvyLq41pyV?si=0Tg2dzVsQiKBzEnmtj3rCQ) from the movie 'amelie'! one of its songs appears in the next chapter ♡
> 
> there are also visuals to go along with this, all on my twitter!
> 
> ♡ [chapter two painting](https://twitter.com/withallstars/status/1270367102193590277) by elo  
> ♡ [chapter five painting](https://twitter.com/withallstars/status/1279800137154359296) by elo  
> ♡ [donghyuck concept art](https://twitter.com/ophelialilies/status/1256401053840367616)  
> ♡ [more donghyuck concept art](https://twitter.com/ophelialilies/status/1263628402285674496)  
> ♡ [mark concept art](https://twitter.com/ophelialilies/status/1256809440830910466)  
> ♡ [mark and donghyuck](https://twitter.com/ophelialilies/status/1263625073576955904)  
> ♡ [mon chéri video edit](https://twitter.com/neoneversIeeps/status/1261094936851685377) by lilac
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading it, and as always, please leave kudos if you like it and let me know what you thought in the comments ! it makes my day to hear what you guys think hehe ♡
> 
> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ophelialilies) and [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/ophelialilies) !
> 
> as always, happy reading ♡♡♡

The flirtatious golden light of the midday sun filters through the room’s old windows, casting yellow lines and soft shadows across the mannequins and drawing tables. The sunlight reaches Donghyuck, its warmth tickling at his hands which are working intently to pin the hem of a silk dress. 

Outside, the sky is blue and clear, save for a few lonely clouds. The gentle and constant hum of Paris, almost like a wistful woman’s song, plays on into another day, and as always the city feels alive as if beating with its own heart. 

It only takes one more prick of a pin to his finger for Donghyuck to sigh and put the fabric down, admitting momentary defeat. (Perhaps he will blame it on the sun later). He sits back, stretching, his body quivering at the effort after sitting in the same seat for almost three hours. He doesn’t mind though.

Over the last year, the textile rooms had become more of a home than his own apartment. The smell of cotton and dust, the sounds of sewing machines whirring and fashion pencils snapping has become all too familiar, the soundtrack to his every day. 

Donghyuck’s stomach grumbles as if just realising the time, as if just realising the basic need to eat remains, and he pouts at no one in particular. Leaving the bench seems so unappealing, when he is only a few pins away from finishing the dress that had been both the burden and highlight of the last month. 

The idea for the pearly silk dress came to him one day by the canals of his city, where he had been sketching when a woman walked past. She had been but a momentary flurry of brunette curls, vintage glasses and silk, but the image had embedded itself deep inside Donghyuck’s mind, and it had been hard to shake.

“There you are!” a voice sounds, wrenching Donghyuck from his thoughts. He turns to find none other than Na Jaemin, walking with intention through the doorway of the room until he is standing right beside him, arms crossed over his chest. “I was looking for you everywhere! And you weren’t answering my calls!”

Donghyuck glances down at his phone, laid absentmindedly on the seat next to him, and _oh_ – sixteen missed calls. Donghyuck puts on his most apologetic smile and meets Jaemin’s eyes, watching in real time as any anger that had been there melts away.

“Sorry, I lost track of time,” he starts with pout, and knows Jaemin is thinking he has _lost track of time_ again. “But, in my defence, I’m always here. The fact that you couldn’t find me only speaks to your incompetence.”

And maybe it was a little too harsh, because Jaemin’s eyes are suddenly wide, and his lips form a small, surprised _o_. 

“Okay, ouch,” Jaemin says when he finally catches up, but then he’s laughing, and Donghyuck is too. “It’s not my fault you never leave this old dusty room.”

Donghyuck lets him have that one, because it’s true, and so they’re even. 

“Is everything alright?” Donghyuck asks, suddenly remembering the urgency of Jaemin’s stride, and the number of missed calls on his phone.

“Oh, yeah, I was just hungry and wanted lunch. Have you eaten yet?” 

Before he can answer, Donghyuck’s stomach does so for him with an impatient growl even louder than the previous. He and Jaemin meet eyes and there’s a smirk on Jaemin’s pretty face. 

“Let’s go,” is all Donghyuck says before he’s packing away his kit into his shoulder bag, rolling up the cord of the sewing machine and putting it on the shelf, and placing the dress in his personal cupboard. Jaemin eyes him suspiciously as he locks the cupboard door with a key from his bag, and he patiently reminds him that one can never be too careful. Jaemin rolls his eyes and then they’re heading out the door.

It’s over the sweet scent of croissants and the bitter one of coffee that Jaemin pops the question. 

“Donghyuck, I had an idea.” he says, and Donghyuck looks at him immediately, searching his face for any kind of clue as to what this idea might entail. Jaemin’s ideas had a tendency of being either reasonable or insane, and there was no inbetween. It’s part of the fun of being his best friend, Donghyuck supposes, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t gotten him into prickly situations one too many times.

“Yeah?” he asks cautiously. Jaemin takes a sip of his coffee, and Donghyuck knows he isn’t trying to be suspenseful but it doesn’t help. Finally he swallows and lets out a satisfied sigh, placing the cup back on its saucer. 

“You know how you’re always complaining about being broke?” he deadpans, and it takes Donghyuck aback for a moment. He isn’t sure whether he has the right to feel insulted or not, because it’s true.

“Yes?” he opts to respond. 

“Well, Jeno was telling me about this advertisement he saw in the art wing, looking for male models for the art students’ life drawing classes. They pay you per session and it’s a pretty generous amount,” Jaemin says, and Donghyuck watches his mouth move, wondering if he’s hearing him right. “Would you be interested?”

The words roll over and over again in his mind. _Male model. Life drawing. Art students._

At first, he had instinctively thought _no,_ that he isn’t at all interested in modelling for life drawing _._ But with each beat of time that passes, it seems less and less like an insane idea, and more like a reasonable one. It pays well, apparently, and Donghyuck has been in desperate need of money since the local bakery he was very fond of working at closed down. He’s also confident and comfortable in his skin, and wouldn’t be totally opposed to the idea of being naked in front of a bunch of strangers.

Honestly, what could go wrong? At least he would get a few cool paintings of himself out of it.

And so, with the thought in mind that, with Jaemin, you never know what you’re going to get, Donghyuck asks how to sign up. Jaemin flashes him a grin brighter than the stars, and Donghyuck wonders whether he has made a grave mistake. 

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

A week later Donghyuck finds himself walking the unfamiliar hallways of the art wing, an area he rarely frequents, in search of _room 403_. Students bustle past, buzzing with chatter and energy, a scratchy record playing somewhere nearby. 

It takes a desperate google search and the help of a few strangers for him to find the room, and to his surprise it isn’t all that different from the rooms in the fashion design wing. Sure, there are canvases instead of mannequins, racks of sketchbooks and paintbrushes instead of sewing machines, but the room is still large and old and dusty, and the Parisian midday sun filters through the windows all the same.

What takes Donghyuck by surprise is that the room is full, every canvas with an owner, every seat filled with a student, a blur of paint-stained jeans, exposed forearms and old converse. At the centre of the circle is a plain white slab, no doubt the space Donghyuck will be asked to pose.

All the eyes in the room turn to him as he stops in the doorway, including those of an old professor in the corner of the room.

“Ah, you must be our model, Lee Donghyuck?” he calls across the classroom, but his voice is warm and kind, and his eyes crinkle behind his half-moon glasses.

Donghyuck smiles and nods, trying to calm the beating heart in his chest. He can do this. It’s not like he hasn’t been naked in front of others before. Yet something about the strange nature of what he has signed himself up to do is only now dawning on him. 

“Come in, come in,” the old man gestures, and Donghyuck feels himself relax as he steps inside the room, putting his bag down in the corner against a wall. Soon the eyes are no longer on him, the students chatting amongst themselves as the professor slots a vinyl record on the turntable. It crackles to life, and _Clair de Lune_ , one of Donghyuck’s favourite pieces, fills the room. 

The professor approaches him then with a kind smile. He pulls him aside with a gentle touch, and asks if he has ever modelled before. Donghyuck shakes his head, and then nods it to answer the man’s next question of whether he is still comfortable to do so. The professor instructs Donghyuck to step onto the platform at the centre of the large space, and to undress himself when he feels ready. The man returns to his desk, leaving Donghyuck alone with an excited, racing heart beat and his own thoughts.

He steps between the canvases of two girls who both giggle as he passes, whispering words he can’t hear as he steps onto the platform. All eyes in the room are on him once more, and as Debussy reaches his chorus, Donghyuck unbuttons his silk blouse, pulling it from where it’s tucked into his jeans, which he takes off too. Then, when he’s completely naked, his clothes thrown to the side, Donghyuck stands, unsure of where to look. 

His eyes fall on the boy in front of him, and as soon as they do, he knows why. The boy is eye catching, like a siren in male form, something you feel drawn to look at against your will. He is all sharp lines and soft curves, a combination of dark unruly dark hair, wide sparkling eyes, a singular dangling earring and pink lips parted to hold a paintbrush between his teeth. The boy is looking at Donghyuck too, not at his body but at his eyes, with something in them that makes Donghyuck blush. He averts his gaze.

“Donghyuck, please make yourself comfortable,” the professor calls across the room, and he almost doesn’t hear him. He does though, and grateful for the excuse to do something with himself other than stand there awkwardly, he lowers himself to the platform until he’s lying comfortably on his side. (It’s only later that Donghyuck realises he happens to be facing the boy directly). 

Time escapes him as the students begin to paint. He listens to the record dance through the arabesques into Debussy’s earlier work, and he loses himself in the sounds of brushes against canvas, of shoes squeaking against the linoleum floor, of the pedestrians and cyclists outside bustling past. The sun is starting to set, and Donghyuck watches in curiosity as the light changes, bathing him in its golden touch. 

Not to his surprise, he doesn’t feel uncomfortable, but that doesn’t mean the situation doesn’t feel unfamiliar. He has been naked many times in front of many lovers (and even some friends, memories he isn’t all that fond of), but never solely for the purpose of being viewed, for the purpose of being studied. It’s both exhilarating and terrifying, and he finds that his eyes keep wandering back to the boy with dark hair, no matter how hard he tries to stop them. 

Over the course of the class, Donghyuck discovers that he likes to watch the boy work. He furrows his brow as he concentrates, and has a habit of placing smaller brushes behind his ears as he changes size or colour. His nose sometimes scrunches in a rather adorable way, and his eyes reflect the afternoon sun. But what Donghyuck likes the most is watching the boy’s eyes trace over his own figure. As they move from his face, down his neck to his stomach and groin and thighs, it’s as if they have a touch, and Donghyuck can feel it. It does something to him, sending a shiver down his spine and a warmth pooling in his stomach at the feeling.

Before he knows it, the bell is ringing and the class is over. He’s putting his clothes back on when the professor approaches him, talking over the sound of the bustling students packing their bags and filing out of the classroom. All of the canvases remain on their stands, waiting to dry.

“Thank you, Donghyuck, you were fantastic!” the old man says in a cheery voice that has Donghyuck beaming at the compliment. “You looked very comfortable, I would have never guessed you hadn’t modelled before.”

“Not a problem, sir, it wasn’t as strange as I thought it would be,” he says with his usual wide grin. 

“Would you like to have a look at the paintings?” he asks. Donghyuck sends him a confused look, not immediately understanding what he means, but then he follows his gaze to the drying canvases and realises.

“Sure!” he says, unable to hide his excitement. It’s not every day a room full of artists spend a few hours painting you. He moves out of the circle and walks around, eyeing each artwork carefully. It’s rather surreal, seeing different depictions of his own naked body, of his face, brought to life by paint and by skill. Each is impressive in its own way and each is distinct from the previous, testimony to each painter’s individual style. 

Donghyuck’s eyes fall on one particular painting for longer than the others, and it doesn’t take him long to realise it’s the painting by the boy with dark hair. 

It’s not too different from the others in terms of colour or style, but there is something about it that’s striking, almost as if the Donghyuck in the painting is the one looking at him, and not the other way around. It’s remarkable how much the figure looks like him, as if the boy who painted it knew every curve and crevice of Donghyuck’s body by memory. He can’t help the sigh of awe that escapes his lips.

“What do you think?” the teacher asks, and they both know he’s talking about this painting and not the others.

“It’s breathtaking,” Donghyuck responds, realising that’s the word he had been searching for.

“He’s our most promising student,” the man says, and something about that doesn’t surprise Donghyuck at all. There’s something different in every stroke, something special. 

It’s then, as the sounds of the students packing up reaches his ears, that Donghyuck remembers they’re still there. He turns to find those dark, sparkling eyes looking at him, and when they lock eyes his heart flips in his chest. The boy sends him a small smile before he leaves the room, and Donghyuck watches him go (wondering when he will get to see him again).

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

“So you’re telling me that you got naked for money?” Renjun asks, and Donghyuck chokes on his sandwich. 

The evil grin that spread across Renjun’s face at his suffering makes it clear he was just teasing, but when one puts it like that, it sounds more like prostitution than modelling for life drawing. Jaemin’s laughing too, and in that moment Donghyuck wants to murder both of his friends. Momentarily he weighs options, before deciding it’s slightly more advantageous to keep them alive. Slightly. 

He rolls his eyes and retorts, “It’s just life drawing, Renjun.”

The waitress arrives with Jaemin’s third coffee since they arrived at the cafe, and he thanks her with his usual flirtatious grin. Donghyuck tries not to roll his eyes again. 

“What was it like?” Renjun asks, this time not teasing.

“It was interesting,” Donghyuck reflects. “I didn’t feel uncomfortable, but it was definitely a little weird.”

“I’ll bet,” Renjun says.

“But it pays well...and there was a cute boy there, too.” Donghyuck trails off. 

Both Renjun and Jaemin visibly perk up, suddenly more interested than ever. Neither of them says anything, simply waiting for Donghyuck to elaborate. When he doesn’t, Jaemin huffs.

“Donghyuck, are you not going to tell us about the cute boy?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. Should I?” Donghyuck examines his nails, using his long perfected act of disinterest to seek revenge on them. 

“Please, Donghyuck,” Renjun begs, and Donghyuck decides that’s satisfactory. His mind wanders back to the boy with dark hair again before he speaks.

“I don’t know his name, but he has these dark, sparkly eyes, and black curly hair. He looks kind of like a nineties model because he wears shirts rolled at the sleeves and ripped jeans and converse.” Donghyuck describes, and with each word both Renjun and Jaemin’s jaws drop lower and lower.

“Donghyuck,” Jaemin starts, a little speechless, unable to find the words he wants to say. 

“You do realise you just described Mark Lee, right?” Renjun finishes for him. Donghyuck frowns in confusion.

“Mark Lee? Who’s that?” he asks, looking between their two incredulous expressions. 

“Oh, I don’t know, only the most famous student at our school?” Jaemin says in a disbelieving tone. 

“Do you live under a rock?” Renjun asks with even less patience. “This is what you get for spending all your time in the sewing rooms.”

“Okay, but who is he?” Donghyuck asks, now too curious about the painter boy – Mark? – to care about their mocking comments. 

“He’s the year above us, an art student, but apparently he’s way ahead of his time,” Jaemin says.

“A prodigy, if you will,” Renjun adds.

“And that’s saying something, because everyone at the academy is a prodigy. We have to be, to get in.” Jaemin reminds them, as if they could have forgotten.

“Actually, I think they showed some of his work last year at the national art gallery’s annual exhibition. He was only a first year then, and the only student from the school to get in,” Renjun adds, looking pensive. Jaemin whistles under his breath. 

So, the boy he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about is the school’s most promising artist. The only one to get into a prestigious exhibition. Donghyuck doesn’t know what to do with this information, but he knows it makes sense. He remembers the boy’s painting, the way he captured the tunnels of swirling sunlight on his own skin, and it gives him chills. Before he knows it, he’s blushing like a rose, and of course his friends notice (they always do).

“Awww, Hyuckie’s got a crush!” Jaemin coos, pinching his cheeks. Donghyuck scrambles away as best as the chair allows him to, which isn’t far enough.

“Well, I would too, if I were him,” Renjun says with an air of vague disinterest, chewing on his baguette. “It’s Mark Lee.”

Jaemin looks slightly offended, and Donghyuck can’t work out why, but he doesn’t really care enough to try. Something else has taken a hold of his attention, his focus; the image of a starry eyed boy, paintbrush between his teeth, looking down at Donghyuck’s naked body from his canvas. For the second time today, Donghyuck finds himself blushing. 

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

A week passes in a blur of sewing, drafting, drawing and stitching, and Donghyuck’s head is no more clear. The distraction had even started to take a toll on his work. He has yet to finish making the silk dress he’s been working on for weeks. To be fair, it isn’t due for another month, but Donghyuck likes to finish his designs early. It gives him more time to perfect them, and when it comes to his work, nothing less than that is acceptable. 

So it’s with an erratic heart beat and quick steps that Donghyuck manages to do the opposite of what he did last week; he arrives at the classroom _early_. The door is open but he can see the previous class still at work inside. He hadn’t been prepared to make eye contact with a naked middle-aged woman at the centre of the room, so when it happens, Donghyuck quickly averts his eyes, turning until his back hits the corridor wall.

When he does, his eyes meet familiar ones across the hallway, ones that are watching him with curiosity. Just his luck, it’s Mark Lee.

“Hi,” Mark says, and there’s a smile on his pretty pink lips, small but warm. Despite himself, Donghyuck feels the butterflies in his stomach take flight. “Donghyuck, right?”

“Yeah,” Donghyuck breathes, the sound of his own name on the other boy’s lips unfamiliar but not unwelcome. 

“I’m Mark. It’s nice to properly meet you,” he says, and Donghyuck smiles politely and nods, trying not to give away the fact that he already knows the boy’s name. To be fair, he hadn’t actually known it until a week ago, so it’s not too much of a lie. 

“You too,” Donghyuck replies, and then the boy steps forward, striding across the distance between them, until he’s close, almost too close. Donghyuck’s back is still against the wall and he has to lift his head to find Mark’s eyes. Mark extends a hand, and it takes a moment for him to realise it’s a polite handshake, so he returns it. When they connect, Mark feels cool to the touch, a fact that sends a spark of electricity down Donghyuck’s spine. His own hand looks golden against Mark’s pale one, more like marble or porcelain than skin. He meets his eyes again, and they’ve been holding hands a little too long when Mark pulls back. 

The boy looks like he’s about to say something, but whatever it was is lost when the professor arrives, interrupting their exchange and ushering them inside. They walk inside the classroom almost side by side, and Mark’s hand brushes against his own as he peels off to put his shoulder bag down. Donghyuck watches him do so, noticing the cute design on the it as he does.

“I like your bag,” he calls across the space, smiling when Mark turns to meet his eyes.

“Oh, thank you! It’s my own design,” Mark says, a smile on his lips to match, and something flutters in Donghyuck’s heart. He shouldn’t be surprised – if not for the painting itself, Mark’s reputation alone is testimony to his talent – but something as simple as the tote bag design is so endearing that it renders him speechless. So he smiles and distracts himself with putting his own things down and walking towards the centre of the room.

He slips off his shoes and the concrete of the platform is cool but familiar beneath his bare feet. It’s just him, Mark and the teacher in the room, and he sees it as an opportunity to undress more privately, without the eyes of twenty or so students on him.

However, as he does undress, peeling his sweater and collared shirt off his skin, pulling his slacks off his lean frame and discarding them on the floor, he feels the only pair of eyes in the room that matter on him. At first he thinks he’s imagining it, but once he’s naked, standing tall and bare like a marble statue of a god, he finds Mark’s eyes.

The boy sits on his stool, muscle tee revealing his lean arms, metal circle glasses not concealing his dark eyes. Donghyuck watches as they graze over his skin, down and back up, lingering on his lips before finding his eyes again. There’s a kind of shameless intensity burning within them that should be unsettling but instead lights its own fire within Donghyuck’s heart. Something about being under Mark’s gaze makes him feel comfortable, seen, and beautiful. And that’s an intoxicating feeling.

The students filter into the room and a new instrumental piece fills the room, one Donghyuck doesn’t recognise this time. He’s given a prop, a chair to sit in, and the teacher closes the blinds to filter out the summer sunlight which spills into the room. 

Before Donghyuck knows it, the students are painting him again, and he wonders why he never thought to do this before (thank god for Na Jaemin and his crazy ideas). However, just as soon as they start they’re finished, and it’s time to dress himself again. Donghyuck is halfway there, with pants but no shirt, when much to his surprise Mark approaches him.

“Donghyuck?” he calls out, and Donghyuck turns to meet his eyes. He doesn’t miss the way Mark’s gaze flicks to his chest before meeting his eyes again. “I was wondering if I could draw you sometime?” 

Donghyuck hadn’t been at all prepared for that question, and so he can’t stop his eyes from widening, or the small _o_ that his lips form. 

“Only if you’re interested,” Mark says, clearly sensing Donghyuck’s surprise. “I can pay you for your time.”

“You want to pay to draw me?” Donghyuck asks, coming out of his reverie and watching Mark’s face shift into a smile. 

“Yes, I’d love to, if you’ll let me,” he says, and Donghyuck feels his heart flip in his chest. Suddenly this is feeling all too unfamiliar. Unfamiliar, but exciting. 

“Of course,” Donghyuck decides, pulling on his shirt and making progress with the buttons. He looks away from them for a moment to speak again. “But you don’t have to pay me.”

This time, it’s Mark’s turn to look surprised. The expression is foreign on his features, and it makes Donghyuck smile.

“Are you sure?” his eyes seem to search Donghyuck’s face for the answer. Donghyuck nods.

“It would be my pleasure,” he says, moving to grab his own bag to conceal the rouge on his cheeks. 

And that is exactly how Donghyuck ends up walking out of the art block that day with a bounce in his step, Mark Lee’s number in his phone, and an invitation to meet up for a few days time. 

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked chapter one ! chapter two coming very soon hehe.
> 
> please leave kudos if you enjoyed it and let me know what you thought below ♡♡♡ 
> 
> thank you again for reading! : )
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/ophelialilies) and [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/ophelialilies)


	2. deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> draw me like one of your french boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bienvenue to chapter deux !
> 
> thank you so much for all the support on the first chapter; reading your comments made me so happy and excited to update ♡ I love you guys sm,,,thank you again for all the kudos and comments ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ
> 
> as always, happy reading !

The art rooms look exactly the same on a Saturday morning, Donghyuck discovers, but they feel completely different. As he leaves the cobbled streets of the central city area to enter the academy, he notes the absence of students, the lack of sound and laughter. He reaches the art wing to find that even the smell of coffee and paint is absent. It’s just him, the beating of his heart, and the squeaking of his shoes against the floor with each step that he takes. 

Soon enough he runs out of stairs to climb and follows the hallway that spills out onto the highest floor of the building. _Room 801, room 801_ , he chants over and over in his head as he reads the sign above each room. About halfway down the corridor he finds it. 

In the doorframe he stills, taking a deep breath and trying to calm his nerves. Why had stripping in front of a class full of people been less daunting than this? (He knows the answer to that question, but decides not to think about it). Donghyuck takes a step inside.

The room is large, larger than is needed for two people, with the far wall being almost entirely window. Through the old glass Donghyuck can see the entire city, spread out and crawling with life, from the canals to the tour Eiffel, the white ceilings of Sacre Coeur in the distant rolling hills. The sky is a bright blue as it always is in summer, and the sun is rising over the horizon.

Donghyuck stops marvelling in the beauty of his city and directs his attention back to the room, because _oh yes, I’m here for a reason_ , to find a lone canvas at the centre of the otherwise bare room. Beside it stands the same boy that has plagued Donghyuck’s mind for the last few weeks, with his dark black hair and pretty, soft eyes, today lined with what Donghyuck thinks is brown eyeliner. Those same eyes are watching him, and Donghyuck wonders how long he had been standing there.

“Hi, sorry,” he’s quick to say, moving into the room until he’s standing close but not too close to Mark. “It’s an amazing view from here.”

To his relief, the other boy smiles, a warm and knowing look in his eye. “Hi,” he says, and Donghyuck had forgotten how his voice sounded, so its husky honeyed tones aren’t at all an unpleasant reminder. “That’s okay, I was the same the first time I came here.”

“Really?” Donghyuck can’t hide the surprise in his voice, the image of a younger Mark exploring the halls coming to mind.

“Yeah, that’s why I love this room. I have it booked for most weekends, so I can come here and draw. The natural light is my favourite to work with,” Mark says, his eyes never leaving Donghyuck as the latter places his bag down in the corner of the room. “I’ve never had someone here with me though.”

Donghyuck jerks up in surprise and they meet eyes. “To draw, I mean,” he clarifies, and Donghyuck knows he’s blushing but hopes Mark can pass it off as the kiss of the summer sun.

“You don’t usually draw other people?” he can’t help but ask. Perhaps curiosity killed the cat, but Mark seems like an open person, so he feels confident enough to enquire. He watches as the boy’s brows furrow slightly, but just as soon as they do, it’s gone.

“No,” he says, and there’s a smile on his lips again. “You’re the first person I’ve ever wanted to draw outside of class.”

Okay, how is Donghyuck supposed to respond to that? His mind is reeling, his blush only becoming more furious as he struggles to find words to say, struggles to conceal the way those words make him feel.

“Thank you,” he replies, the calmness of his own voice surprising him. “I’m honoured.”

There’s a beat of silence, and Donghyuck’s mind is racing a thousand miles a minute trying to work out a way to break it, when Mark does it for him.

“Shall we get to work?”

“Yes, of course.”

And so Mark turns to the corner of the room, where a record player sits, and Donghyuck realises that every room in the art wing must come with one. Another similarity to the fashion design wing, he notes. Mark pulls a record from a frayed sleeve, and Donghyuck immediately recognises it as _Comptine D'un Autre Été._ He smiles, because it’s beautifully cliché, the piece of music that makes Donghyuck feel most connected to his city. (Of course it’s the one that Mark chooses, his heart unhelpfully whispers).

As the piano notes begin to unfold from the record, Donghyuck watches Mark walk towards him again. Something about the look in his eyes leaves him breathless, and he feels rather helpless under his gaze, unable to speak. Luckily, for the second time today, Mark saves him.

“Are you ready?” he asks, his voice gentle. Donghyuck nods, as if suddenly remembering what he came here to do. He steps back a bit, and his hands instinctively move to pull lightly on his shirt, freeing it from where it’s trapped beneath his high waisted jeans. He immediately stops, though, when he feels a gentle warmth on his hands.

He realises that that warmth is Mark’s own hand on his, causing him to pause. He looks up in a questioning glance at the other boy, whose eyes are waiting to meet his again.

“You don’t have to undress, today,” Mark says, and Donghyuck watches his lips move, the sound of the piano fading out until it’s only Mark’s voice he hears. “I want to paint you just like this.”

If he’s honest with himself, Donghyuck is surprised. He had assumed Mark wanted to paint him naked, just like in the life drawing classes. But then again, Mark seems to be full of surprises.

“Oh, okay. Sure,” is all Donghyuck can reply a few moments later, still a little dazed. As he moves towards the canvas, he can feel Mark’s eyes on him, watching. “How do you want me?” he asks, merely seeking direction for poses but it comes out sounding a little like a sexual innuendo, and Donghyuck can’t help but laugh at his own words. There’s what he thinks may be a blush on Mark’s cheeks, but then again it could be the summer sun, so he brushes it off.

“Just sitting on the platform, please,” Mark responds, his voice is warm and steady as usual. He settles onto the stool behind the canvas, and it’s then that Donghyuck notices the paintbrushes and colour palettes lined up and ready for use. He moves to the platform, finding a comfortable position sitting on the edge with his arms behind him to support, and his legs dangling off the edge. They’re slightly spread as he’s faces Mark directly, and that same feeling of being _seen_ , of being _studied_ , returns. It’s slightly less unfamiliar this time but no less disarming. Both exhilarating and disorienting.

“Wow, Donghyuck,” Mark breathes, bringing Donghyuck back to the present. The other boy pauses and Donghyuck hangs off every beat of silence that passes before the boy speaks again. “You’re a vision. I’ve never been so captivated by anything.”

“Really?” he chokes out, not meaning to sound so startled but his voice betrays him. Mark simply nods, his eyes tracing down from Donghyuck’s face to his body and back up again, slowly. So slowly. It’s almost insane how unabashed Mark is. Donghyuck can only watch, waiting for their eyes to meet again. When they do, Mark smiles, nothing short of warmth crinkling his eyes. 

“I’ll start painting now, if you’re ready,” Mark says and Donghyuck nods, thankful for the distraction. 

“Do you like to talk while you work?” Donghyuck asks. It’s the most essential question a student must ask at the academy. Speak while the wrong person is working and you may risk being chased out of the studio or being murdered with eye-daggers across the room. Mark sighs as he starts mixing colours on his palette.

“I wish I could, but I can’t really focus if I do,” Mark says, sounding remorseful, and Donghyuck understands.

“I’m the same, don’t worry,” he says, and some of the tension in Mark’s brow disappears. 

“I can only work to music,” Mark says, and that’s one of the last things that is said between them for hours, only the beautiful pieces of Yann Tiersen filling the surprisingly comfortable silence. Mark asks Donghyuck to hold his position as best as he can, which turn outs to be not too difficult. It includes keeping his eyes trained on the same spot, though, which happens to be Mark’s face (that’s where his eyes had been when he had started painting, whoops). 

So Donghyuck spends the next few hours or so watching Mark, and part of him wonders if the boy feels like he’s being studied in the same way Donghyuck does. The cute expressions and mannerisms of concentration that he had found so fascinating the first time he saw the boy are there on his face again today, and Donghyuck delights in watching them as he works.

Donghyuck follows his eyes as the boy glances between him and the canvas, and finds it rather fascinating, how the painting is completely concealed from view and he has no idea what it looks like or what’s going on inside Mark’s head as he paints it. 

By the time Mark finishes, the sun is high in the open sky, signalling midday. As if on cue, Donghyuck’s stomach signals midday too with an embarrassingly loud grumble. (It’s always betraying him like that. Donghyuck, or at least his hunger level, is essentially an open book). Mark laughs, a sweet sound that doesn’t feel one bit mocking, so Donghyuck doesn’t bother feeling embarrassed. He’s past that point now, and so he laughs too as Mark packs away his brushes and paints. 

Donghyuck stretches like a cat and it feels amazing, his muscles quivering after laying dormant for a few hours. He twists side to side and something cracks. A small giggle escapes Mark’s lips that makes the feeling even better.

“Would you like to have a look?” Mark asks, and Donghyuck looks to find that his eyes are sparkling again, the way they had been the day Donghyuck first saw him. 

“Yes!” he exclaims excitedly, standing and walking toward the canvas. He joins Mark by his side, perhaps a little too close because their hands brush and Donghyuck feels butterflies flutter in his stomach, but he’s too distracted by the painting to notice. Because _wow_.

It’s as if he’s seeing Mark’s work for the first time. As if he had forgotten how talented the boy is in the week since he’d last seen him paint. 

The figure in the painting is beautiful, a fact which makes Donghyuck feel out-of-body, in a sense. 

The Donghyuck in the painting is bathed in golden light, casting flecks of light and dark across delicate honey skin. He looks long and elegant, his mousy hair catching the light, his eyes sparkling with it too, gazing at the viewer with a kind of unreadable, calm expression. Donghyuck realises with a strange feeling in his gut that this is how Mark sees him. 

“What do you think?” said boy asks, his voice soft and tentative, breaking the surface tension of the silence. He doesn’t sound insecure or uncertain, though, and Donghyuck doesn’t blame him. His talent is undeniable. And within the academy, unbeatable.

“It’s...,” Donghyuck tries, the word that he’s looking for eluding him. “I don’t really have a way of describing it. It’s just beautiful.”

Out of the corner of his eye Donghyuck can see that Mark is smiling, a smile that reveals his dimples and makes his dark eyes curve into half moons. He looks beautiful, too. Like a boy trapped in his own painting. 

At some point after silence falls – Donghyuck loses track of how much time he spends gazing at the painting (and Mark too, secretly) – said boy offers to take him to lunch. The butterflies in Donghyuck’s stomach answer that question for him before his mind even has time to decide (but his heart knows that the mind was always going to say yes).

And so that’s how Donghyuck finds himself seated across from Mark at the quaint table of a cafe in _Le Jardin du Luxembourg_ , one of his favourite places to spend lazy summer afternoons reading or having a picnic with friends. 

People of all ages bustle past, travelling in every direction to unforeseeable places. Children dance and play around the fountain at the centre of the gardens, floating boats along its surface and chasing them to the other side. Friends bask in the sunlight and lovers lay together in the grass, lips together in an open display of passion.

Music plays softly in the background, only barely rising above the clinking of cups, turning of newspaper pages, and the hissing steam of the coffee machines. The atmosphere between him and Mark is comfortable, as if they already know each other better than they do. 

With a coffee in his hands, Mark reveals that he knew of Donghyuck long before the first life drawing class, and Donghyuck attempts not to choke on the baguette he had unceremoniously taken a bite into right as Mark started speaking.

“What?” he splutters, swallowing the food in his mouth, and the sound comes out muffled. Mark looks at him with amusement, but again it isn’t mocking, and his eyes are sparkling.

“I said, I knew who you were before I met you. I didn’t know what you looked like, but I knew your name,” Mark’s voice is calm as he leans back in his chair. Donghyuck collects himself enough this time to respond more coherently.

“How did you know my name?”

“I saw your designs in the fashion show last semester,” Mark responds after a sip of his coffee. 

“Really?” Donghyuck asks, still not totally processing the idea that Mark knew who he was (and, rather embarrassingly, that he didn’t know who Mark was, despite him being the most famous student at their school). 

“Yes, they were incredible. Really eye catching and distinctive, especially compared to the other designs,” Mark says, and a warmth blossoms in Donghyuck’s chest. As much as he feels flustered by this new information, it makes him feel happy too; those designs had been a labour of love, not without blood, sweat, tears, and many almost-all nighters pulled at the academy. He remembers with a shudder the nagging texts from Jaemin reminding him to eat, the cold walks home from school as the sun started to rise on a new day and he had yet to sleep. To see his hard work walking down the runway in the form a full winter collection had made it all worth it. For Mark to praise him right now like this makes it worth it.

“Thank you,” he says instead, a little short of words. Mark must read the gratitude in his voice, or see it on his face. Donghyuck doesn’t know which, but the other boy smiles warmly and gives him time to collect his thoughts. 

When Donghyuck finally does, he decides to ask the questions that he had been burning with curiosity to ask all week.

“Are you originally from Paris?” Donghyuck asks, and only takes a bite of his baguette once he’s finished asking the question, hoping to avoid another potential choking. 

“Born and raised here, yeah,” Mark starts. “But my parents aren’t originally from here. My mum’s from Lyon and my dad from Seoul.”

Donghyuck hums (around his mouthful) to show that he’s listening. There’s a small quirk of Mark’s lips that he thinks is a smile, but he isn’t sure. 

“What about you?”

“My parents are both from Korea. Jeju actually,” Donghyuck responds, watching Mark’s eyes widen at the latter fact. He smiles. It’s something that surprises everyone, even the Korean people he meets along the way. Jeju is unique in that way. 

“But I moved here after high school to study. It had always been my dream to go to the academy,” he finishes, feeling comfortable being honest. Something about Mark, maybe the warmth in his eyes or the way he listens, makes him very easy to talk to. (Or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s been naked in front of the boy, so what else is there to lose?).

“It was always your dream to come here?” Mark asks, leaning forward slightly. His coffee cup is back in its saucer and he places his hands on the table, close enough to brush against Donghyuck’s. The cool touch of Mark’s metal bracelet caresses his wrist, the denim of his jacket brushing past lightly, and Donghyuck tries not to shiver. Mark is watching him carefully with those eyes, and the butterflies in his own stomach take flight for the hundredth time that day. 

“Yes, ever since I was young. I always knew I wanted to design clothes, it was just a matter of where,” Donghyuck starts, and he’s told the story many times but this time it feels new. 

“When I was nine we visited my grandmother in Montmartre, and I fell in love with the city. I told her I wanted to be a designer and she took me into town, to the academy. I saw all the students in their berets and boots, carrying sketchbooks and fabric, and I knew I wanted to be a part of that world. I still get that feeling almost every day.”

Mark is watching him with something in his eye Donghyuck can’t quite place; somewhere between wonder and understanding. It’s a look that makes him feel known. Like Mark understands everything about him, or at least wants to.

“That’s really beautiful, Donghyuck,” Mark says after a moment, his voice still soft. Donghyuck smiles, a genuine smile of its own accord. He feels warm, peaceful, in a familiar place with an unfamiliar boy. An unfamiliar boy who is starting to feel not too unfamiliar. 

“What about you? Did you always want to be an artist?” Donghyuck asks, turning the attention away from himself. A small smile graces Mark’s lips before he speaks. 

“Yes, I guess it’s a similar story to yours. I grew up on the outskirts of the city, and every time my mother would take us into town, I would spend the entire train ride picturing the academy, and the day I would get to go there.” 

“That’s so sweet. I can imagine a little you wandering the grounds of the academy,” Donghyuck says, but he hadn’t really meant to say it aloud. His thoughts had somehow bypassed his mental filter and slipped out before he could stop them. It doesn’t seem to matter, though, because Mark laughs at the comment and sips his coffee. It’s only then, when he does, that Donghyuck realises their hands had still been touching. He feels the absence of Mark’s cool touch instantly.

“I was drawing from a young age, but I only decided I wanted to be an artist when I first fell in love,” Mark continues, and Donghyuck hadn’t expected the elaboration. His mind catches on the word _love_. It sounds sweeter when Mark says it. Sweeter than the flowers of the garden in bloom all round them. 

“The first time you fell in love?” he asks. Mark nods, a playful smile on his lips.

“That’s a story for another time,” the boy says rather cryptically, and Donghyuck is left wondering what the story may be, and if he will ever get to hear it. 

“What’s your favourite part of the city?” Mark asks, changing the subject. 

“Hm, probably the steps of Sacre Coeur at sunset. You can see the sun dip below the horizon from there, and just as it does, it casts the whole city in pink and blue. I used to watch it every evening with my grandmother,” Donghyuck says, smiling fondly at the memory. “What about you?”

“The _Parc des Buttes-Chaumont_ , I think,” Mark says, and Donghyuck smiles, because it’s one of his other favourite places too. “It’s such a lovely place to spend the afternoon drawing, lying on the grass amongst the flowers.”

Donghyuck hums in agreement, before adding his own profound anecdote. “You know, once I was lying there and I rolled over to escape the sun, but where I rolled there happened to be a bee and it stung me.”

Mark is laughing, although it’s probably more accurately described as giggling, a hand covering his mouth as sweet sounds escape his lips.

“Hey! It’s not funny,” Donghyuck exclaims, but the boy’s laughter is contagious, and he finds himself laughing too, his offended act starting to crumble. 

“I mean, I’m sure it wasn’t fun for the bee either,” Mark says, still giggling, and so the words come out more like hiccups. Donghyuck battles harder against the urge to give in, to laugh at himself too, but a part of his pride remains intact and insists that _no, it isn’t funny._

“Yeah, well, it’s not like he gave me a chance to hear me out or anything,” Donghyuck explains, rolling his eyes. “He just stung me and flew off. How rude.”

Mark’s giggling escalates to full blown laughter, and Donghyuck watches in horror as his attempts to convince Mark that his suffering was valid dies right in front of his eyes. He gives up with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest. When Mark finally settles, he reaches a hand out, placing it on Donghyuck’s wrist, and it’s that same electric feeling down his spine all over again. 

“Okay, it’s not funny. I’m very sorry that happened to you, Donghyuck,” Mark says, and his voice is disarmingly sincere that it catches Donghyuck off guard. Said boy rolls his eyes and mumbles _“You’re just like my friends,”_ , which makes Mark smile to himself. 

They talk for a while longer before the waitress politely insists they leave, and that’s when both boys notice the queue outside the cafe, long and extending outside the garden’s gates. They collect their things quickly, having finished eating long ago, and Donghyuck goes to pull out his wallet.

Something stops him, though, and it’s Mark’s hand on his.

“I insist, Donghyuck,” he says, and Donghyuck stands there confused for a moment before realising what’s happening.

“But I–,” he tries, but Mark cuts him off with a smile.

“You wouldn’t let me pay you for your time, so at least let me pay for your lunch,” he says, and although it goes against every one of Donghyuck’s values, he decides to let the boy, simply because of the insistent smile on his face. Donghyuck doesn’t think he could argue with that. 

“Okay, if you’re sure,” he says quietly.

“I’m sure,” Mark smiles before turning to the waitress with a handful of euros, and Donghyuck is glad the boy isn’t looking, because he’s blushing like a rose in bloom, and this time it’s certainly not because of the sun. 

After Mark has paid (and Donghyuck has thanked him three more times), they leave the cafe and walk towards the garden’s intricate silver gates. They step through them and out onto the street, full of people and bicycles and the smell of fresh produce and bouquets. They come to a stop, and Mark asks him which way he’s going.

“I don’t live too far from here actually, so I’ll just walk home,” Donghyuck says. “I’m down that way,” he says, gesturing to the right. Mark laughs.

“I’m the other way, but not too far either,” he says, and Donghyuck smiles.

Silence falls and it’s not uncomfortable but Donghyuck feels the urge to break it, to say something, anything, because the way Mark is looking at him makes him feel uncharacteristically shy.

Finally, Mark speaks.

“I better get going, then. I have an assignment due next week I need to finish,” Mark is saying, and Donghyuck can feel his heart sinking in his chest at the realisation that their time together is over. “Thank you for your time, Donghyuck. You were beautiful to draw,”

Donghyuck’s head is spinning, his cheeks suddenly feeling warm again, but he urges himself to respond. 

“That’s okay, I had a really nice time. And thank you again for lunch,” he says, and Mark rolls his eyes slightly.

“You can stop thanking me, Donghyuck,” he says, but he’s smiling, his teeth showing slightly through his grin. “I’d love to paint you again, if you'll let me.”

“I’d love that,” Donghyuck is quick to say, and then they’re standing in silence again, smiling at each other. Suddenly, Mark moves toward him, too fast for Donghyuck to process what’s happening. Before he knows it he can smell cologne and paint and cinnamon, and Mark is placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

“ _Au revoir_ , Donghyuck. I’ll see you in class,” Mark calls, smiling and turning as he does. Donghyuck watches him walk away, watches him disappear further down the cobbled street until he’s lost in the crowd of people, and Donghyuck is still standing there, the words he never got to say dying on his lips.

_Au revoir, Mark._

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what did you guys think of this chapter? what do you think will happen next? please let me know what you think below, it makes me so happy to hear from you guys : ) 
> 
> thank you again for reading! ♡♡♡
> 
> find me !! [twitter](https://twitter.com/ophelialilies) and [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/ophelialilies)


	3. trois

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when you kiss me heaven sighs, and though I close my eyes, I see la vie en rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter three is here! 
> 
> I really hope you guys enjoy it, and as always, please let me know what you thought in the comments! reading them really makes my day and encourages me to write more ♡
> 
> also, sexual content was marked in the tags but thus far there has been none. from this chapter onwards, there will be sexual content, so please beware : )
> 
> without further ado, happy reading !

Skin meets skin, warm and sweaty, as Donghyuck moves up and down, lifting his weight only to fall back down again. His legs are spread and starting to ache from the effort, sweaty where they meet the white bed sheets on either side of Lucas’ broad chest. 

Beneath him, said boy’s head is thrown back, a trapped moan between his parted lips, eyes half-closed and dark with arousal. Donghyuck continues to move rhythmically, his fingers burning against Lucas’ warm skin where they are splayed on his chest for support. Lucas looks close, he notices, and his suspicions are confirmed when a few moments later a pleasured groan escapes his lips. 

“Baby, I’m so close,” he chokes out, and Donghyuck hums, quickening his pace the way he knows Lucas craves. It doesn’t take long; soon enough there are stars dancing behind Lucas’ eyes, now almost completely closed as he rides his wave of pleasure. Donghyuck watches it all unfold from above, tracking every crease and curve of Lucas’ orgasm as if it were scientific. Something to be observed. 

Eventually, Lucas stills beneath him, clearly almost down from his high, and Donghyuck knows he’s watching him. Perhaps he should say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he slowly lifts himself up, sliding off the other boy’s long, muscular frame and falling to the space beside him. Instinctively, despite himself, he curls into Lucas’ chest. 

“Hyuck, is everything alright?” he hears Lucas ask, the question that he already knew was coming. The question he wishes would come a little later when he knows the answer. “You’re not really all here, are you?”

One of Lucas’ long fingers is trailing circles into the sweaty skin of Donghyuck’s back, and it eases some of the tension that had made a home for itself there. He breathes in deeply, and then out again.

“I’m sorry, Lucas,” Donghyuck tries, his words accompanied by the sound of the other boy’s heart, beating slow in his chest. “I guess I’m not really here.”

“That’s alright. Is there something on your mind?” Lucas asks, and his voice is warm, sensitive, and Donghyuck isn’t surprised; Lucas never pries or pushes where he isn’t welcome, but he’s also just as quick to notice when something is wrong. 

“Or someone?” Lucas voices the other half of the unspoken question. 

There’s a beat of silence. 

Any tranquillity Donghyuck may have found in the last few moments is lost. The butterflies in his stomach take flight once more, and his thoughts stray to the blurred image of a boy. A boy with dark, curly hair, and a kind smile.

“Donghyuck?” Lucas asks tentatively, breaking the tense silence that had fallen.

“Sorry,” Donghyuck is quick to say, trying to find his feet. “Yeah, I suppose there is someone.”  
  
And it feels ridiculous to say, because Mark isn’t anything more than a familiar stranger, a new presence, a talented boy who only wants to paint him. He’s also a boy who says things that make his heart flutter. But nonetheless, the heart knows better than the mind what it wants, and whether Donghyuck wishes them to be or not, the feelings are there, simmering beneath the surface of the sea.

And so, he feels he owes it to Lucas to let him know. 

“We always said things might change,” Lucas starts, his voice carrying no edge. If anything, it’s laced with understanding, and Donghyuck realises that there was never any need for apprehension. Lucas was always going to understand. Why wouldn’t he?

“That this might happen, that one of us might meet someone. It was all a part of what we agreed to when we started fooling around.”

“I know,” Donghyuck breathes, a slightly bitter laugh escaping his lips. He closes his eyes and curls closer into Lucas’ warmth. “I know that, but I didn’t plan for this to happen. I wasn’t ready for it.” 

“One never is, Donghyuck,” Lucas responds with ease, and Donghyuck can hear the smile in his voice (can imagine the way it lights up his gorgeous face). For a moment, he wonders if he deserves it. 

(Deep down, he knows that this is right. At least, that’s what the excited butterflies in his chest whisper to him through the nostalgic silence that falls).

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

With an almost completely naked female stranger perched by his side, Donghyuck begins to revise his conclusion that life drawing had been one of Jaemin’s reasonable ideas, and not one of his insane ones. 

Then again, this particular situation isn’t really Jaemin’s fault. It’s the teacher’s, for forgetting to tell him that another model would be joining them today for the third life drawing session. Upon the look of poorly masked horror on Donghyuck’s face (a flair for the dramatics, perhaps), the old man realised his mistake and apologised profusely. That had melted away most of the annoyance Donghyuck had been harbouring (what remains of it will be systematically blamed on Jaemin, but that’s a matter for later).

And so that’s how Donghyuck finds himself in nothing but a rather revealing singlet and underwear, with a girl in equal amount of clothing perched next to him. The teacher had provided them with some direction for posing, suggesting a kind of relaxed position, so Donghyuck lay comfortably on the platform and the girl (with a bashful smile), placed her legs over him. That had apparently been perfect, because the professor had sighed an _ah, magnifique!_ before placing a record on its player and taking his usual seat in the corner, humming along to the music.

The students begin to paint immediately, and with each moment that passes, Donghyuck feels less tense. There’s a kind of therapeutic element to the silence that falls, leaving him with nothing but his own thoughts. The other girl seems comfortable too, and clearly more experienced with this kind of thing, judging by the way her head hangs back and her eyes are closed. It’s a rather sensual position, Donghyuck realises, a thought that makes his eyes unconsciously move to a certain boy with dark hair. 

At that moment, the boy is looking at him, too. It’s entirely possible, Donghyuck thinks, that he had just been looking for the purposes of painting. But either way, his eyes linger when they meet Donghyuck’s, holding his gaze for a moment too long.

Donghyuck smiles, suddenly shy, suddenly feeling warm. Mark smiles too, and despite the distance between them, the two dozen or so students around them, it feels like it’s just the two of them. Like there’s a spotlight, somewhere above, lighting up only him and Mark, its light dancing in the other boy’s from eyes across the room.

Just as soon as the moment comes it’s gone, Mark’s eyes darting back to the painting and his hand resuming its strokes. Donghyuck lets out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

Soon the class is over and he’s pulling his blouse and jeans back on, replacing the felt baker boy hat on his head and hoping that without a mirror the placement isn’t too ridiculous. (Years of hat-wearing experience, the finishing touch to any outfit if you ask him, had hopefully given him enough skill to do so). Amongst the crowd of students there’s Mark, packing away his sketchbooks and brushes, throwing the occasional glance over his shoulder in Donghyuck’s direction. It just so happens that Donghyuck sees every one.

And that’s why he almost jumps out of his skin when there’s a gentle touch on his shoulder. He relaxes when he turns to find that it’s just the other model. She smiles, and Donghyuck realises that she’s pretty, in the kind of soft, freckles, button nosed way. 

“You’re a natural, you know,” she says, and her voice is sweet. Donghyuck blinks, before he realises what she’s said.

“Oh,” he laughs, surprised. “Thank you.”

“Claire,” the girl speaks again, and Donghyuck stares back blankly.

“Claire?” 

“That’s my name,” she says with a laugh and it clicks. “And here’s my number,” she says, reaching around and tucking something into Donghyuck’s back pocket. (Oh. Donghyuck is used to people asking him out, to being hit on, but this feels different. He can feel a pair of eyes watching.)

“Just in case you ever wanted to call,” she says resolutely, a smile on her lips as she walks away with an air of nonchalance. Donghyuck watches her go, rather dazed. For the second time today, his eyes take on a life of their own and wander back to a certain boy who’s still in the room.

The boy is looking too, and again their eyes meet. Mark smiles. Donghyuck smiles too. The butterflies in his stomach are flying again.

“I’ll see you soon, Donghyuck,” Mark calls, a small wave as he walks out the classroom door and disappears into the hoards of students bustling past. Still rather uncomprehending, Donghyuck turns to the professor, who sends him a wink with no further comment. There’s something close to mirth dancing in his old, crinkled eyes, but maybe Donghyuck is just imagining it.

Donghyuck wonders in a brief moment of existential panic what his life has come to (and he suspects Jaemin has something to do with it). 

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

The afternoon sun is shining brighter than normal, as if convinced to stay in the sky a little longer, and Donghyuck can understand its passion. The final stitches of his dress have sown themselves to completion, and before him lies a piece of pearly fabric that represents everything he has worked for over the last month or so. The satisfaction is immense, a swelling of pride in his chest, the soft tinkers of delight fluttering around in his heart. 

“I finished it,” he exhales to no one in particular, standing and smiling down at the garment splayed out on the working table. The straps of its elegant design fall off the edge of the table to caress the room’s window, and Donghyuck follows their lines until his eyes are landing on an elderly man on the street below, placing a chaste kiss on the cheek of a small child, who giggles and embraces him with rosy cheeks. 

Donghyuck smiles.

“I haven’t seen that smile in a while,” a voice calls, and he turns to find Johnny had been watching him from his own table. “All I’ve seen are frowns and pouts. It’s a nice change.”

“Shut up,” Donghyuck quips with no real bite. He’s practically grinning.

“Did you finish the dress?” Johnny asks, his curious eyes searching the space beyond Donghyuck. Said boy simply nods, and Johnny grins. He stands, disregarding whatever he had been doing, and Donghyuck wants to protest, because _oh my god,_ what if he just dropped hours of hard work? But he doesn’t protest, too paralysed by the feeling of elation rippling through him.

Johnny reaches his side, staring down at the Donghyuck’s work, a gentle hand fanning over the fabric. As it travels over each curve and drape of the dress, he hears Johnny suck in a breath. 

“Donghyuck, it’s beautiful,” he says after a moment, eyes tearing from the dress to meet Donghyuck’s own. Donghyuck looks up into them, reminded once again of how they look like doe eyes, before he’s pulled into a crushing embrace. He lets out an _oof_ as his face collides with Johnny’s chest, their height difference embarrassingly obvious. But Donghyuck doesn’t mind, instead wrapping his hands around Johnny, pulling him impossibly closer. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you, Johnny,” Donghyuck says, his eyes close to welling with tears. He fights against them, because they’d only be happy tears anyway, and there’s no need to ruin Johnny’s expensive shirt. (He’s the type of fashion design student to only wear overpriced designer brands). 

“Why don’t you put it on?” Johnny asks, and Donghyuck hears the sound vibrate through his chest. He pulls away and looks at his friend’s face, at the excitement there. Donghyuck matches it.

“Okay!” he exclaims, collecting the garment with tender fingers and walking to the doorway. “I’ll be right back!” he calls over his shoulder, already heading out the door and down the hallway to where the bathroom is. It doesn’t take him long to find an unoccupied cubicle, changing rather hastily out of his clothes and into the dress. The satin is cool against his skin, but it fits perfectly, a fact that doesn’t surprise him considering it had been tailored to his measurements. 

He steps out of the door and stops before the sink, eyeing himself in the mirror. The sun is setting, bathing the bathroom in hazy orange hues which dance in the luminescent fabric of the dress. It drapes over his lithe frame gracefully, cinching at his waist and falling from his hips. He turns, his chin over his shoulder, eyes gazing over the dress, the way it compliments his figure. At that moment, Donghyuck feels out of body again, for a moment seeing himself as a vignette, a boy caught in a frame, trapped behind rotating sunlight. For a moment, he sees himself the way Mark must see him.

The thought leaves him feeling dizzy, chills running down his spine that have him moving out of the bathroom and into the hallway. When he pushes through the textile doors again, all the students in the room, Johnny included, turn to look at him.

“Donghyuck,” he hears Johnny say under his breath. Soon the other students look away, returning to their work and pretending to mind their own business, but the feeling stays. He moves into the room, to Johnny’s side, and does a turn.  
  
“What do you think?” he asks, when the spin is complete, holding a pose for Johnny to decide. The other boy laughs at his dramatic antics, but then he speaks again, all humour gone.

“I can tell why that boy wants to paint you.”

And suddenly Donghyuck is blushing, not because of the words from Johnny’s mouth, but because of the mention of a particular boy. These days, that seems to be a very common occurrence. 

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

  
  


_“Merde!”_ the old woman curses as she, and her bags full of fresh bread and produce (which smell delicious by the way), collide with the backs of Donghyuck’s legs.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologises profusely, offering her a hand to recollect the stray tomatoes rolling on the cobbled path, simultaneously offering to pay her back. She waves him off with a passive-aggressive hand and continues hobbling down the street with a scowl, muttering something about the youth under her breath. Donghyuck decides to never stop abruptly in the street again. 

The source of such a bold action had been a mysterious text message from Mark. Just a few hours before their scheduled Saturday morning drawing session is meant to happen, Donghyuck is walking home from breakfast with his grandmother. A fond smile is still dancing on his lips when the cryptic message arrives, in the form of _Meet me by the jacaranda._

There’s no explanation, no second message, although Donghyuck searches for one, even wondering if his data has run out. But no, there is nothing more than that message, and he spends the next few hours wondering (with admitted anticipation) what is going to happen by the jacaranda tree outside their academy.

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

“Mark, what’s–,” the words are lost, slipping away in silence, when said boy grabs Donghyuck’s hand softly, interlacing their fingers.  
  
“Come with me,” Mark says, a smile on his lips that says _trust me._ And so, for some peculiar reason, Donghyuck does. He lets Mark lead him away, not realising until several minutes later that they’re not heading to the art wing at all but out of the academy gates. Soon they’re crossing the streets, ducking through alleyways and across public squares, and Mark never lets go of his hand.

Never lets go, until they reach the gates of none other than the _Parc des Buttes-Chaumont_. 

“Oh,” Donghyuck says as he realises where they are. A smile teases at the corner of his lips. 

“You remember that story you told me about the bee?” Mark asks, and he isn’t laughing but Donghyuck can hear the delight in his voice. 

“Oh god, not again,” Donghyuck sighs, paling at the memory of Mark laughing at his suffering.

“No, no,” Mark is quick to protest, turning away from the gates to look at him. “It’s just, ever since you told me that story, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the image of you lying down in a park full of flowers.”

_Oh._

“Oh,” Donghyuck says. Mark laughs, his eyes sparkling the way they always do, and it’s then that Donghyuck really sees him, for the first time since he intercepted him by the jacaranda tree only minutes ago. Today he looks even more James Dean (a term Donghyuck has started using to describe the boy in his head) than usual, in a white shirt, denim jacket, jeans and converse. Maybe it’s the belt, or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at Donghyuck right now, but something about him is making Donghyuck’s heart race at a worrying pace. 

“Okay, well I love this park, but just as long as there are no bees,” Donghyuck says with a grin, using his usual humour to fight off the growing sense of nervousness that seems to always be around whenever Mark is too. 

“No bees, I promise,” Mark says back, a smile to match.

“What if you’re wrong?” Donghyuck prods.

“Then I’ll make it up to you.”  
  
And then the boy is taking him by the hand again, they’re entering the park, and Donghyuck’s mind is running wild with all kinds of ideas about how Mark could do just that.

They find a place beneath a great big tree, which casts pretty flecks of light and shadow over the lush green grass. Out of his shoulder bag, Mark pulls a picnic blanket, big enough for three or four people. Whilst Donghyuck settles, lying down comfortably on the soft fabric, Mark pulls pencils and a sketchbook from his bag.  
  
“Aren’t you painting today?” Donghyuck asks, watching Mark’s hands lay out the supplies.

“No, I feel more like drawing,” Mark says, a small smile on his lips. “I think it suits the landscape better. And plus, it’d be kind of difficult to paint in a park.”

“I’m sure you could do it,” Donghyuck blurts out before he can stop himself. He looks away, not meeting Mark’s eyes and pretending he can’t see the smile growing wider on the other boy’s face.

“Thank you, Donghyuck,” the boy says, and they fall into a comfortable silence as Mark adjusts his things. Then, a thought comes to him.

“Would it be okay if I read?” he asks, mind wandering to the newly purchased book waiting for him in his bag, its pages not yet seen, still new and smelling of the bookstore.

“Of course,” Mark says without missing a beat, his voice soft. Around them, children are playing, their laughter filling in the gaps between the croaking frogs and chirping birds. There’s a kind of lazy summer heat dancing over the city today, the wind’s cool touch long forgotten. 

Once again (and not to Donghyuck’s surprise), the time passes both fast and slow, like delicate waves washing over him. He thumbs through the pages of his book carefully, trying not to move too much, while Mark sits next to him and sketches. They’re close, much closer than they had been in the life drawing sessions or even their private one last week. He had become used to the distance, the formality of their arrangement, so this is new. Donghyuck can feel the bare skin of Mark’s knee, where it’s exposed by his ripped jeans, brushing against his thigh, and he tries to stop his mind from going crazy, focusing instead on the words on the pages.

Mark can’t talk while he works, Donghyuck knows this, and so it surprises him when Mark talks. 

“Are you going to call her?” he asks, and once again there’s no explanation, no clarification, leaving Donghyuck confused.

“Hm?” he hums, his throat feeling rough and unused. Nothing has been said for perhaps an hour. “Call who?”

“Claire,” Mark says, pausing to concentrate on a particular line. He bites his lip between his teeth as he concentrates, and Donghyuck watches with interest as pink disappears beneath white. “The girl from the class. I saw her give you her number.”

And oh, now Donghyuck understands. As the words sink in they become intoxicating. Mark had been watching. 

He takes a breath. 

“Oh, no. I don’t think so,” Donghyuck says, his words revealing anything but what he’s thinking. He permits himself to roll his head to the side, just for a moment, to get a better look at the boy above him. He doesn’t miss the small smile that graces Mark’s face, if but for a moment, or the way some of the tension in his furrowed brows seems to dissipate. 

“Why not?” Mark asks, after a rather prolonged silence.

“She’s not...,” Donghyuck trails off, wondering how he can word this in a way that doesn’t reveal the real reason. He opts for, “...really my type.” 

Mark hums under his breath, finishing the line that he’s sketching, before he glances up. Donghyuck meets his eyes which hold his gaze, wondering what the other boy is thinking.

“Donghyuck,” Mark calls, eyes unwavering.

“Yeah?” he exhales, heart beating faster and faster in his chest. 

“Your beret,” the boy says. “It’s kind of askew”

Donghyuck feels both disappointment and laughter bubbling in his chest, unsure of what he had really wanted Mark to say. At that moment, the other boy places his sketchbook down. Before Donghyuck can realise what’s happening, Mark leans forward, and with a gentle hand, guides his beret back into position.

“There,” the boy says, and just at the slightest of touches, Donghyuck’s heart is erratic in his chest. This, too, is new. 

“Thanks,” he mutters, breathless. Mark sends him a shy smile before picking up his pencil and continuing to draw. And maybe it’s then, or maybe it was somewhere along the way, but Donghyuck realises just how much he wants to kiss this boy. But that’s a matter for later. A problem for a future Donghyuck who can move. For now, he’s stuck like this, lying in the fields of Mark’s favourite park, watching said boy bring his own image to life with just his fingers and some pencils. 

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what did you think of this chapter? I really hope you liked it ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ ♡
> 
> I used Lucas instead of Yukhei because Lucas is actually a french name ! 
> 
> please let me know what you thought below, and thank you again for reading! 
> 
> p.s. I love you guys sm
> 
> find me !! [twitter](https://twitter.com/ophelialilies) and [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/ophelialilies)


	4. quatre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> eyes that make mine kiss, a laugh that is lost on his mouth, here is the portrait without retouching, of the man to whom I belong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bonjour and welcome to chapter four!
> 
> I hope you guys like this chapter, it's slightly longer than usual! as always, please let me know what you thought in the comments! 
> 
> I love you guys always, happy reading ! ♡

Donghyuck can feel the book scraping harshly against his cheek from where it’s squished against his skin, but he can’t bring himself to care. He stays like that, breathing growing heavier, face pressed to the pile of books in front of him on the desk. That is, until a loud and unwelcome voice interrupts his growing sense of peace.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep on me!” Renjun scolds, a hand whacking at Donghyuck’s arm. He snaps to attention at the sensation, bolting upright and rubbing at his neck when it comes with pain. “You promised me we would study together.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” Donghyuck whines, defensive. “I was resting. A quick break, if you will.”

Renjun is clearly unconvinced, raising his eyebrow in an unnerving gaze that never leaves Donghyuck. The latter boy averts his eyes, suddenly feeling uncomfortable under his friend’s intense stare. He resorts to looking through his notes, anywhere but Renjun really, not wanting to face what he knows is coming. And so Donghyuck is surprised when it never does. 

“Why are you so tired?” Renjun asks, his tone tentative and concerned, a complete shift from only moments ago. His eyes are still searching Donghyuck’s, but any trace of annoyance has vanished. Donghyuck sighs, taking his face in his own two hands and rubbing, as if such an action will rub away his sleepiness, too.

“It’s nothing,” he mumbles, not even convincing himself. He hopes it somehow works on Renjun, although to no one’s surprise, it doesn’t either. 

“Hyuck, talk to me,” Renjun insists, albeit carefully, as he closes his notebooks and gives Donghyuck his full attention. The other boy waits patiently while Donghyuck’s sluggish mind collects its thoughts.

“It’s...,” he tries, taking another breath. “There’s something on my mind, and it won’t let me sleep,” he confesses, and Renjun’s eyes soften. Still, his friend says nothing, waiting for Donghyuck to continue. 

“You know how you and Jaem were teasing me for having a crush on Mark?” he asks, earning a small but confused nod from Renjun. “Well, you were kind of right, I think.”

There’s a gasp from Renjun, one Donghyuck would consider a little too dramatic, but he knows he’s not one to talk. 

“Really?” Renjun asks, his tone not far from disbelieving. “We were just joking, Hyuck.”

“I know,” Donghyuck says, and something in his voice must finally convince Renjun that he’s being serious. “I know you were.”

“Oh, okay,” his friend exhales, reaching across the space between them and taking Donghyuck’s hands in his. They’re warm, and Donghyuck can’t help but sigh into the familiar touch. 

“Well, like I told you that same day,” Renjun starts, and Donghyuck starts to smile, remembering the line before Renjun even says it. “If I were you, I’d have a crush on Mark Lee, too.”

They laugh together, a little too loud for the late afternoon silence broken only by the other students’ stressed paperflipping and manic scribbling, and it earns them a rather terrifying death stare from the librarian. That quiets them immediately. 

There’s a few moments of silence, Donghyuck lost in his thoughts again. His hands are still in Renjun’s when he speaks again.

“Renjun, what do I do?” he asks, his voice almost breaking this time. “I can’t sleep, and when I do, most of my dreams are about him.”   


Renjun at first looks sympathetic, as he listens to Donghyuck speak, but by the time he finishes, Renjun's face has morphed into confusion. 

“Why don’t you just tell him how you feel?” he asks, as if it were that easy. Donghyuck almost laughs.

“Because, what if his interest in me is purely artistic?” Donghyuck asks, breathing life into the question that had been silently plaguing him for weeks. Renjun gives him an unreadable look, his words hanging in the air between them.

“You’ll never know the answer to that question until you ask.”

It almost hurts to hear, Donghyuck realises, because Renjun is right. He ponders it for a moment, the thought of telling Mark how he feels alone rendering him both terrified and excited, if the butterflies in his stomach are anything to go by. 

And so with a smile shy Donghyuck promises his friend something along the lines of  _ okay, I’ll tell him.  _

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Donghyuck’s stomach grumbles when the smell of the soup reaches his nose, and he wills it to cook faster. He’s stirring the pot a little too vigorously, a little too impatiently, and the voice of his grandmother echoes in his head:  _ Donghyuck, a watched pot never boils. _

And so with that in mind, Donghyuck steps back, leaning back against the counter of his kitchen and taking a deep breath. His eyes wander to the street below, visible through the open windows of his apartment’s living room, where the blinds are open wide and the sunset is creeping through. Despite the time, there is life and bustle continuing along the pathways, a sense of both urgency and calm in every step pedestrians take. It’s the kind of energy that is always humming through the city, summer or winter, day or night. It’s the absence of that very same energy that Donghyuck would always notice first, boarding the plane home to Jeju as each summer came to a close.

The soup is now boiling angrily, threatening to pour over the edge of the pot if he doesn’t move fast enough. Somewhere along the way he had become lost in his thoughts, and his dinner had almost paid the price. Almost.

Donghyuck takes a seat on his couch, one hand reaching to absentmindedly flick on the television while the other places the bowl on the coffee table. He blows on it, hoping to cool it down with the same impatience he had held for it to heat up. It’s almost ready when Donghyuck’s phone vibrates in his pocket.

He pulls it out to find a text from Mark waiting on the lockscreen. His heart beat picks up immediately, because Mark hasn’t texted him unannounced like this before. It makes his mind run wild. What if they were supposed to meet right now? Was there another class that he was required to attend? Donghyuck’s fingers are almost trembling in anticipation as he unlocks the phone, reminding himself that he couldn’t remember ever making such plans.

All his worries were futile, Donghyuck discovers, when he reads the message. 

_ I was wondering if you’d like to come over tomorrow morning? I had an idea for a drawing. Let me know! bises, Mark  _

With a hand to his chest, Donghyuck rereads the words.  _ Come over, _ his brain unhelpfully provides.  _ Come over. _

And the  _ bises _ ? What could that mean? Friends say that to each other all the time, sure, but are they friends? Donghyuck really has no idea what he is to Mark, and maybe that’s part of what drives him to accept the other boy’s offer. It’s an opportunity to live up to his promise to Renjun. 

Mark responds rather rapidly to Donghyuck’s reply, a fact that makes him smile to himself. He sends his address, not too far from Donghyuck’s own place, on the other side of  _ Parc des Buttes-Chaumont.  _

That’s when he remembers the other day in the park, the way Mark had gently kissed his cheek. His grin grows wider as he eats his (now cold) dinner, hurrying through it so that he can sleep sooner and bring tomorrow closer. 

As Donghyuck falls asleep that night, an idea suddenly comes to mind, and he smiles to himself in the darkness, more excited than ever for the sun to rise and tomorrow to come. 

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Donghyuck’s idea turns out to be a little more stressful than planned, but it’s nothing he can’t work with. Stressful in the sense that it required him to get up a little earlier than usual, but he slept through the first (and the second) of his alarms.

Hurrying around his apartment Donghyuck pulls on his socks whilst brushing his teeth, frantically locking up the windows and packing his bag.

He manages to leave his apartment in record time, taking the flight of stairs down to the ground level two at a time, almost bowling over the kind old man from the second floor. Many apologies later, his shoes hit the cobblestones of the street and he hurries east, following a familiar route he hasn’t walked in a while. 

He reaches the small bakery rather efficiently, and one look at the time on his phone tells him he is no longer late. In fact, he’s perfectly on time. With that information in mind, Donghyuck takes a moment to settle himself, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans and fixing his jacket that had gone askew. He runs a quick hand through his hair and steps inside, the smell of freshly baked bread overwhelming his senses. He sighs, the comforting smell reminding him fondly of his old work. 

A young woman behind the counter greets him with a friendly smile. Donghyuck returns it, finally coming down from the stressful lunacy of his morning and settling into a normal rhythm of day.

He looks between several enticing pastries and muffins, before deciding on a croissant, a blueberry muffin, two pain au chocolat, and two coffees. As he places his order, the woman smiles.

“For your partner?” she asks, an innocent question that makes Donghyuck cough. 

“Uh,” he says, his own mind wondering what the answer to that question is, too. “Yeah,” he decides is easiest to say, and he tries to ignore the giddy feeling that comes with the thought of Mark being his. 

“Well, I hope you enjoy,” the woman says, still smiling, handing the items over the glass counter after Donghyuck slides her some money. “Have a lovely morning.”   
  
“You too, thank you,” Donghyuck says, almost beaming as he skips out of the store and back onto the street. It’s 8:45 am, and he has fifteen minutes to do the ten minute walk to Mark’s apartment. So he takes it slow, willing the beating heart in his chest to calm. It’s been minutes since he ran, there’s no need for it to be so erratic.

It turns out to be a nice walk, trailing the edge of  _ Parc des Buttes-Chaumont  _ until it finds him in a nice, quiet suburb full of apartments. Each balcony, in typical Parisian style, has flowers hanging over the edge, and Donghyuck enjoys the sight, a splashing of purple and pink, blue and green. There isn’t a cloud in the sky today and the sun is just waving good morning as he reaches the address Mark had sent.

Donghyuck shifts the bag of items into his other hand to ring the doorbell with his left. It buzzes and there’s a moment of silence, filled only by Donghyuck’s breathing, and then a voice sounds.

“Donghyuck?” the voice asks, sounding distant and distorted through the archaic doorbell receiver. Still, he recognises the voice and smiles. 

“Yeah, it’s me!” he calls, excitement in his voice. There’s a small laugh on the other end, and then the electric door is clicking open and Mark is telling him to come up.

With the coffees and food in one hand and his heart in the other, Donghyuck climbs the stairs. Each time the staircase rotates to a new level, Donghyuck gets a glimpse of the city through the stairwell window. He reaches the fourth floor, the highest floor of the building, where only one apartment door waits for him.

Donghyuck steps toward it, thankful for the lack of a peephole so Mark can’t see him as he fixes his hair (again) and takes a deep breath. He knocks, and the sound echoes through the space beyond the door, before it’s opening and the breath is stolen right from his lungs all over again.

“Hey,” Mark says, a warm smile from behind his circular glasses. He’s wearing only an oversized white shirt and ripped blue skinny jeans, and yet he still looks incredible. 

“Hey,” Donghyuck replies, feeling his own smile growing. Mark steps aside. 

“Come in,” he says, and Donghyuck slips past him and into the apartment. 

The first thing that overwhelms Donghyuck is how much the apartment smells like Mark, and the second is how fast he noticed that. It smells like cinnamon, paint, and cologne, and there’s a light breeze rippling through the space from the open windows. It’s open plan, a studio apartment with tall white walls and an old chandelier in the centre, with a rustic, artistic feel that Donghyuck supposes is fitting. 

Golden sunlight spills into the apartment through the great big windows that line every wall, and Donghyuck’s eyes fall to the paintings leaning up against almost every inch of wall space in the entire apartment. They’re paintings that Donghyuck hasn’t seen before, but they’re eye catching, in the sense that they demand one’s attention.

“Are these yours?” Donghyuck asks, wondering how long he had been standing there taking the apartment in. Either Mark doesn’t notice or he doesn’t mind, because he smiles and moves from where he had been standing in the doorway to join Donghyuck by his side.

“Yeah, they are,” he says, and Donghyuck sighs. Of course they are; they’re beautiful. “Some old ones and some new. I’m running out of space,” Mark finishes, a small giggle as he runs a hand through his dark hair.

“They’re amazing,” Donghyuck exhales, finding no other word more fitting than that. 

“Thank you,” Mark says, and his gracious tone is almost disarming. He must receive compliments like this all the time, and yet he remains so modest. The butterflies in Donghyuck’s stomach start to flutter ever so softly. 

“I brought you something,” Donghyuck says to distract himself from the feeling. Mark’s eyes widen for a moment as they fall curiously to the brown bag in Donghyuck’s hand.

“What do you mean?” he asks, eyes trailing back up to meet Donghyuck’s again.

“It’s not much, just a few things for breakfast to say thank you.”

“To say thank you? Why would you need to do that?” Mark asks, his eyes searching Donghyuck’s. “I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

“Thanking me?” Donghyuck blushes, a confused laugh escaping his lips. “Why?”

“For giving me your time, even on an early morning like this,” Mark says, and there’s something unreadable in his tone that Donghyuck doesn't understand. “I should be the one thanking you.”

Donghyuck laughs, hoping Mark can’t see the pink dusting his cheeks. Even the tips of his ears feel warm. “You don’t have to thank me for doing those things, Mark. Trust me, I want to do them,” he says, his voice sincere. It’s important to him that Mark understands this.

“Okay,” Mark says after a few moments of silence. Yet there’s still tension in his brow, Donghyuck realises. 

“As I was  _ saying _ ,” Donghyuck quips, exaggerating his words dramatically in a way that makes Mark laugh. His brows relax and Donghyuck practically beams inside. “I brought you something, to say thank you for having me. For having me over to your apartment I mean.”

And maybe Donghyuck is going crazy, maybe it’s just the soft warmth of daylight in the apartment, but it looks like Mark’s blushing too. “Oh,” the other boy says, and Donghyuck moves over to the marble counter in the kitchen, setting the bag down gently and removing its contents. 

“Have you eaten yet?” he asks as he does.

“No, not yet,” Mark responds.

“Me neither. I brought coffees, and maybe we can eat the rest afterward?” Donghyuck asks, turning to find that Mark’s eyes are sparkling again.

“Sure,” he says, stepping closer. “Thank you again, Donghyuck.”

“It’s alright, Mark,” Donghyuck chuckles. “You can stop thanking me.”

“Okay,” the other boy says, returning the laugh. 

“What was your idea for today?” Donghyuck asks, a question that had been lingering in his mind since that unexpected text message arrived late last night. 

“Well,” Mark perks up at that, “The light here in my apartment is really nice, and I thought I’d like to capture you in it.”

Any sense of relaxation Donghyuck had found flies out the window at Mark’s words, and he’s left rather speechless for a moment. He quickly tries to collect himself, because really, Mark’s said things like this before. (And yet, every time he does, it still manages to sweep Donghyuck off his feet.)

“What did you have in mind?” Donghyuck asks, trying to keep his voice neutral. He follows Mark’s gaze to the large bed at the centre of the apartment, all white sheets and rippling golden light dancing over it’s curves and folds. 

“If you’re comfortable with it, I’d love to paint you lying on the bed.” Mark says simply, as if those words weren’t enough to knock the air out of Donghyuck’s lungs all over again. He keeps calm though, because if he puts the warmth in his chest aside for a moment, then artistically, it is a beautiful sight. 

At that moment, an idea comes to him.

“No, I wouldn’t mind,” he says, meeting Mark’s eyes again, who smiles, that same sparkle in his eyes. “I have an idea, actually.”

“Oh, what is it?” 

“My most recent design,” Donghyuck starts, already rummaging through his shoulder bag for the familiar piece of fabric. “I finished it the other day, and I’d be happy to wear it if you like the way it looks.”

He tries his best to meet Mark’s eyes, tries to settle the butterflies in his stomach as he does.

“Of course. You don’t have to ask, Donghyuck, you already know I love your designs,” the other boy responds naturally, and Donghyuck smiles.

“Okay, I’ll just get changed then,” Donghyuck says. “Where’s your bathroom?”

Mark points him in its direction, and it turns out to be behind a door Donghyuck hadn’t noticed, concealed in the corner of the studio. When Donghyuck steps inside, he realises that it’s spacious, all pearly tiles and mirrors. 

He changes easily from his blouse and jeans to the silk dress, shivering as its cool fabric caresses his skin. In the mirror he takes in his own image, feeling proud for a moment for all his hard work. Then, he takes a deep breath and steps through the door that leads back to the studio. 

When he does, Mark is sipping on the coffee that he brought him, leaning against the counter and seemingly lost in thought. He must catch sight of Donghyuck emerging from the bathroom, though, because his attention immediately turns to Donghyuck. 

Donghyuck watches as the other boy’s expression morphs, from surprise and then to awe.

“Donghyuck,” Mark breathes, as Donghyuck moves closer until he’s standing just in front of the boy. He feels lightheaded just at the use of his name. It’s the perfect distance and position for Mark to reach out, to wrap his hands around Donghyuck’s slender waist, and pull him close. He doesn’t though, and Donghyuck is pulled from his imagination when Mark speaks again.

“You're stunning,” he says slowly, eyes never leaving Donghyuck’s. Donghyuck knows he’s blushing, but this time he doesn’t mind, allowing himself for once to just feel. At that moment, all he wants to do is cup Mark’s cheek in his hand, to pull him closer and attach their lips in the space between them. Maybe Donghyuck is the only one who feels it, but the silence is tense, laced with something unspoken. It’s broken when Donghyuck speaks, his voice croaky and small.

“Shall we start?” he asks. There’s a smile on Mark’s lips again and the moment passes.

“Of course.”

Donghyuck walks over to the bed whilst Mark pulls a working stool and canvas stand from a cupboard and sets them up beside the bed. He grabs a blank canvas from against one of the walls and places it in the stand. With a quick movement, Mark takes a seat on the stool, ready to work, as Donghyuck runs a hand over the soft sheets. They feel worn and broken-in in that loved kind of way, and it makes Donghyuck smile. He had always preferred old sheets to new ones. 

“You can just lie down however you like,” Mark says, and so Donghyuck does. Instinctively, he lies on his back, diagonally across the bed so that his feet face the window. It’s warm in the sunlight, which bathes every inch of his skin in gold, the light reflecting in the pearlescent fabric of the dress. He lets his head rest on the sheets, his eyes closing for a moment because of the overwhelming sense of comfort that washes over him. 

“Is this okay?” he asks rather suddenly, as if remembering where he is and what he’s here to do.

“It’s perfect, Donghyuck,” Mark says, and Donghyuck rolls his head to the side to get a glimpse of Mark. He can only see half of the boy’s face, the other half obscured by canvas, but he knows the boy is smiling. He watches as it fades, the boy starting to work. A comfortable silence falls, as it always does when Mark is drawing him, except something feels different. Not in an ominous or unsettling way, but in a way that makes Donghyuck feel alert, awake, alive with anticipation. It leaves him alone with his own thoughts once more, filled only with the promise that he made Renjun days ago. 

He’s unsure of how much time has passed when Mark finally speaks again to let him know that he’s finished. The sound is sudden but not disturbing, and Donghyuck yawns and stretches like a cat, rolling onto his chest and closing his eyes for a moment. Despite the warm sun, the fabric of the dress is still cool. He hears Mark laugh, and realises that the boy is now standing, filling the space between the canvas frame and the bed. Donghyuck opens his eyes and looks up to find Mark’s dark, moon shaped ones looking down at him.

“Hi,” Donghyuck says rather dumbly.

“Hi,” Mark repeats, laughing again, but it doesn’t feel like he’s teasing him one bit. “Do you want to see it?”

Donghyuck is suddenly awake at that, and so he stands, the slip of his dress falling naturally to fit his silhouette again. He can feel Mark’s eyes on him as he walks around to stand beside him in front of the painting. 

As usual, it’s breathtaking. All of Mark’s paintings are littered across the apartment, but there’s something about the ones of himself that are particularly striking. Something in the strokes changes, in the light, and in the atmosphere that Mark captures. For a moment, like everyone else seems to, he understands why Mark wants to paint him. 

“What do you think?” Mark asks, his eyes never leaving Donghyuck.

“I love it,” he says, speaking honestly. “It’s strange, seeing one of my designs in one of your paintings, though,” he notes, laughing as Mark does too.

“You’re right,” Mark says. “I think they go well together, don’t you?”

“I do,” Donghyuck says, angling himself so that he’s now facing Mark, the image of himself in the painting staying in the corner of his eye. Mark is looking at him in a kind of way that makes something twist in his chest. There’s something knowing sparkling in the other boy’s eyes, something he doesn’t understand, but wants to.

“Shall we eat?” Mark asks, breaking the silence, and Donghyuck wants to laugh. 

“Sure, just let me change,” Donghyuck says instead, thankful for the subject change which diffuses the tense moment. Mark nods as Donghyuck gathers his clothes and returns to the bathroom. He’s quick to pull on his jeans and fix his blouse, this time deciding not to wear the jacket as the day is now warmer than when he left home.

Donghyuck looks himself over in the mirror once more, fixing his rustled hair and adjusting his necklace. When he’s ready, he opens the door and moves to where his bag sits in the corner, dumping his jacket and turning to find the bag of food missing from the counter. Mark is missing too. 

His eyes search the apartment until they land on the far wall near the bed, where the windows that must actually be doors have been opened completely, allowing access to a balcony Donghyuck hadn’t noticed before. Out on the balcony Mark sits at a table for two, the bag resting on its surface. The sun is falling on the outdoor area, bathing Mark in a kind of warmth that doesn’t match his usual pale skin. 

Smiling to himself, Donghyuck moves outside, stepping through the window doors and gasping when his bare feet meet the cool ground of the balcony.

He takes the spare seat beside Mark, and it’s then that he notices the flowers which are draped over all the balcony’s edges, matching with the countless other balconies opposite, beside and below them. Because Mark’s apartment is on the top floor, the drop is quite far, and Donghyuck stands for a moment to peer over the edge. He steps back almost immediately when he sees how far it is, and behind him, Mark giggles.

“Afraid of heights?” he asks.

“No,” Donghyuck defends himself, despite almost crawling back to his seat. “We’re just higher up than I thought.”

“Okay, got it,” Mark says in mock seriousness. “Bees and heights. Anything else?”

“Hey!” Donghyuck exclaims, slapping Mark’s arm with no real force and settling into his trademark pout. Mark laughs again, although this time it’s more of a surprised sound. As a peace offering, Mark reaches into the bag and brings out the pastries.

“Which one would you like?” Mark asks, and Donghyuck tells him blueberry muffins are his favourite, but he doesn’t mind which one he gets. It then takes a few moments of arguing and strong resistance on Donghyuck’s end, before he finally yields and allows Mark to give him the blueberry muffin  _ and  _ the croissant. He’s still sending Mark eyedaggers as he bites into the muffin, but Mark insists that since he is the one who bought them, he should choose.

A peaceful silence settles as they eat together, basking in the morning sun and the sounds of life below. It seems everyone else in the neighbourhood is doing the same, because most people are out on their balconies too, sipping on tea, hanging out washing, or simply reading a book. 

Donghyuck sighs, feeling pleasant and peaceful, as he takes the last bite of his muffin. He decides that he could get used to this. As if remembering in that moment where he is, what he came to do, Donghyuck turns to Mark. 

To his surprise, the boy is looking at him too, but he doesn’t look away when their eyes meet. Instead, he keeps looking, an unreadable expression, and says nothing.

Donghyuck’s heart is pounding in his chest, the butterflies in his stomach are no longer fluttering but taking complete erratic flight, a flurry of movement and nerve. There are words Donghyuck wants to say, questions he wants to ask, and he remembers the promise he made to Renjun. 

“Can I kiss you?” he blurts, before he can stop himself. There’s a beat of complete silence, and his heart sinks in his chest as his own words replay over and over in his mind. Surprise flashes in Mark’s eyes, and the boy moves back a little. Regret starts to pool in Donghyuck’s stomach, and he’s already thinking about how he can get out of Mark’s apartment as fast as possible when something changes.

Mark is standing, and at first Donghyuck thinks he’s moving away, that he’s leaving, but then he doesn’t. He steps closer, until his shins are brushing against Donghyuck’s knees. Donghyuck is forced to look up, to meet Mark’s eyes from where he stands above him.

To his surprise, he feels a cool touch, which he quickly realises is Mark’s hand cupping his own cheek. Mark is smiling, and there’s something glinting in his eye again.

“How can you kiss me when you’re sitting like that?” he asks innocently, head cocking to the side slightly. It’s Donghyuck’s turn to be surprised, but despite his state he stands, as if on instinct. Once he does, their bodies are pressed together, and Mark’s other hand traces down his side until it settles on his waist. Their eyes never disconnect, and Donghyuck searches Mark’s, as if still looking for the answer that the other boy has already given. 

“What are you waiting for?” Mark asks, mouth breaking into a grin, and that’s all the convincing Donghyuck needs. He moves forward, butterflies in his stomach, closing the little space between them like he had imagined doing so many times before.

Their lips meet, and it feels everything and nothing like what he had expected. Mark’s lips are soft and warm, so unlike the touch of his hands, and they fit against Donghyuck’s as if they had been designed that way, two halves of the same whole, now finally complete. The kiss isn’t slow but isn’t rushed, it isn’t reserved but it isn’t desperate. It’s perfectly balanced, and yet Donghyuck finds himself wanting more. 

Perhaps Mark senses that, perhaps the other boy wants it too, because suddenly he feels lightheaded as Mark deepens the kiss, chasing Donghyuck’s tongue until he’s sighing against the other boy’s mouth, opening his lips easily for the other boy. Donghyuck threads his hands through Mark’s hair, and it’s as soft as he’d always imagined it to be. 

They stay like that a while, chasing each other’s lips until they run out of air and are forced to part. Mark presses his forehead against Donghyuck’s, his hand never leaving Donghyuck’s cheek. He feels giddy, a warmth blossoming in his chest and a ridiculous grin on his lips that he can’t wipe off, even as Mark kisses him again with his own similar smile. 

They jump apart, though, when there’s a sudden and unfamiliar sound. Donghyuck’s eyes search the street for the source of the noise, but soon he and Mark are both laughing, when they realise that it’s just a woman on the balcony across the street, whistling and cheering. 

She stops as soon as they see her, smiling and giving a big thumbs up, before turning around and disappearing inside her apartment once more.

They turn back to each other, laughter still bubbling from their throats, and Donghyuck understands how that woman feels because he’s feeling just the same.

After a moment he pulls away, only a fraction, to get a better look at Mark without leaving his embrace.

“I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you,” Donghyuck admits. At this point, there’s not a reason in sight to hide it. 

“Then why didn’t you?” Mark asks, his tone gentle, his eyes soft.

“I don’t know,” Donghyuck bites his lip, looking down. “I guess I was worried that your interest in me was just for artistic purposes.”

Mark places a finger on Donghyuck’s chin, guiding it upwards so that they’re meeting eyes again. 

“Donghyuck,” Mark says, looking between Donghyuck’s eyes and his lips. “Did that feel like it was just for artistic purposes?”

Donghyuck laughs at his words, some of the tension easing in his chest. Because no, that certainly didn’t feel like it was just for artistic purposes. 

“No, it didn’t,” he says, meeting Mark’s eyes, and this time, he doesn’t look away. 

“Good,” Mark says through a smile. “Because it wasn’t.”

And despite the sunlight’s gentle warmth, the smell of flowers and the ringing of bicycles bells, all Donghyuck can focus on is the boy in front of him, with his sparkling eyes and head full of soft dark hair. Hair that Donghyuck longs to feel in his fingers again, and so he does, threading them through Mark’s gentle curls, whispering a  _ come here _ , before pulling the other boy into a kiss that leaves them both breathless.

Although, Donghyuck thinks, when it comes to Mark he doesn’t mind. He decides that if being breathless feels like this, then he can survive without air for as long as it takes. 

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally ! they kissed !!
> 
> please let me know what you thought below, reading your comments really makes my day ♡♡♡
> 
> I'll see you in the next chapter! : ) there's three more coming!
> 
> find me !! [twitter](https://twitter.com/ophelialilies) and [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/ophelialilies)


	5. cinq

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anywhere with you feels right, anywhere with you feels like, Paris in the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter five is here !!
> 
> thank you all so much for waiting for this chapter, I've had a hectic week with uni and I really appreciate all of your patience! ♡
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter, and as always, happy reading ! ♡♡♡

There’s a certain kind of energy, a buzz, that lights up the textile rooms, as the biannual fashion show looms around the next month’s corner, and students hurry to design, cut and sew their visions to life. Donghyuck, despite having finished the last piece of his collection a few days prior, finds himself partaking in the chaos, if only to snip at loose threads. It also gives him lots of time to practice his fashion drawing, a part of the design process that had become more significant to him since he had begun being so involved with the artistic side of the academy. Well, just one artistic boy in particular. 

One glance out the window at the setting sun, and the deep shadows it casts across the city, tells Donghyuck that it’s late. Despite that fact, there are students everywhere, chatting and working and some even sipping at coffee despite the hour. Donghyuck basks in it for a moment, the rhythmic humming of sewing machines filling the spaces between the laughter. One particular giggle reminds him of Mark, and suddenly his mind is filled with thoughts of the other boy; of his paint-stained clothing and his kind smile, of his soft and tender lips, tentative as they had pressed against his own. He sighs at the fond memory from only a few days prior, already seeming so far away. 

Since then, he and Mark had sent a few brief messages back and forth, and had just last night shared a phone call as Donghyuck cooked dinner, but they had yet to find time amongst their busy schedules to see each other properly. Even life drawing classes had been put on hold to give the art students more time to prepare for their upcoming midterms. 

The thoughts of Mark are followed by a deep sense of longing, one that doesn’t align with how recently they saw each other. At this point, Donghyuck realisees, he’s fallen so quickly, so far, that there’s no point turning back. 

He sighs, pushing away from his workbench to stand, trying not to think about Mark for it only makes him miss the other boy more. He stretches from side to side, revelling in the relief it brings his weary bones. He tucks his shirt back into his jeans where it had been pulled astray, yawing as exhaustion settles in. It’s at that moment that his eyes fall to the doorway of the workroom, where none other than Mark Lee stands. 

Donghyuck blinks, thinking for a moment that he must be imagining things. One whistle from Johnny tells him that he isn’t, and Donghyuck rubs at his tired eyes. When they open again, Mark is still standing there, eyes tentative and searching the room until they find Donghyuck, and a smile lights up his face. Donghyuck finds himself smiling, too, his heart filling with warmth at the sight.

“Mark,” he whispers across the space as the other boy steps into the room. He’s wearing a black singlet beneath a leather jacket, ripped skinny jeans and boots to match, and in the evening light he looks even more handsome than Donghyuck remembers him being. He steps closer and closer until he’s right in front of Donghyuck, one hand not hesitating to wrap around his waist. The touch is so delicate that Donghyuck can barely feel it, but it’s just enough that finds himself leaning into it. 

“Hi,” Mark says through a smile.

“Hi,” Donghyuck replies, breathless. He hadn’t realised how much he missed the other boy’s voice, or his touch, until now. It’s then that confusion dawns on him. “What are you doing here?” 

“Now that,” Mark starts, his pretty lips breaking into a mischievous grin. “Is a surprise.”

Donghyuck feels the butterflies in his stomach take flight, and at this point it doesn’t surprise him; they seem to have made permanent residence there, whether Donghyuck likes it or not.

“A surprise?” he asks, searching Mark’s expression for an answer. Instead, all he finds there are eyes that are shaped like crescent moons, something twinkling in them like the stars in the night’s sky. 

“Yep,” Mark says with a serious nod. “And don’t ask what it is, because then it won’t be a surprise,” he says resolutely, a knowing look in his eye as if he knows that he just intercepted Donghyuck’s next question.

“Okay,” Donghyuck resigns, unable to fight the smile on his own lips. The tension and exhaustion he had felt earlier has been forgotten, replaced by something new, like a tender warmth. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Are you all finished for the day?” Mark asks, and Donghyuck suddenly remembers where they are. He looks around to find that most of the students in the large workspace are looking at them. As soon as he catches their gazes they immediately turn away, pretending to be busy with work or chatter once more. Donghyuck feels a blush on his cheeks which only deepens when his eyes find Johnny, who’s sitting across the room with a smirk and a quirked eyebrow. Donghyuck quickly looks away, thinking that that’s a problem for later Donghyuck to deal with.

“Yeah, I was just about to pack up, actually,” Donghyuck meets Mark’s eyes once more, and is amazed at the sheer, unmasked way that Mark looks at him. Donghyuck’s the one who has modelled naked for rooms full of strangers...surely he would be more equipped for their gazes now than Mark is, but apparently that’s not the case. Apparently nothing is as expected when it comes to Mark.

“Okay, perfect. I’ll just let you finish up and we can go?” Mark asks, and when Donghyuck nods, the other boy pulls away. Immediately Donghyuck misses the warmth, the embrace, a factor which motivates him to put away his designs and pack his bag as efficiently as possible. 

Soon enough his bag is over his shoulder, and he’s walking over to where Mark is waiting by the doorway, chatting to Johnny. It surprises him how easily they converse, almost as if they are old friends. For a moment he wonders if they know each other, but then he remembers how friendly both of them are and it makes more sense that they’re just friendly strangers. He smiles at the thought of Mark getting along with his friends. Something as simple as that makes him giddy. 

“Ready?” Mark asks, his eyes lighting up as they find Donghyuck.

“Ready,” he says with a nod, pulling on his denim jacket because despite the summer heat, evenings in Paris could be uncharacteristically cool. Judging by the way the trees are swaying in the breeze outside, tonight is one of those nights.

“Let’s go, then,” Mark says, and Donghyuck’s heart stops, because as he says those words, he interlaces their hands, and suddenly it’s all too much. Mark’s hand is cool to the touch, but no less comforting, sending Donghyuck’s head reeling at just the slightest proximity.

Johnny is eyeing their interlocked hands when Donghyuck meets his gaze, sending him a challenging death stare which holds no real malice. Johnny laughs, sitting back comfortably in his chair.

“Have fun,” he says, but there’s no real mocking edge to it like Donghyuck expected. That’s when he remembers the concerned way his friend had looked at him just two nights ago, as he stayed later than anyone else to work at perfecting his designs. 

“We will,” Donghyuck promises, finding relief in the way his friend smiles easily in response, clearly appeased by the statement.

“Bye, Johnny,” Mark says from beside him. “It was really nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Johnny says, and he’s smiling the way he only does with friends. Donghyuck waves his friend goodbye and then they’re walking out the door, down the winding hallways of the academy and out onto the streets of their city, Mark not once letting go of his hand. 

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

As it turns out, Mark’s plan involves quite a bit of walking. Donghyuck doesn’t mind though. He doesn’t even notice how far they have walked until comfortable silence falls, and an ache starts to set into his legs. At this point, they’ve been walking for the better part of an hour, now far from the academy but still within the central city. 

“Where are we going, Mark?” Donghyuck finally asks, his curiosity getting the better of him. Mark swings their interlaced hands a little between them as he laughs.

“Donghyuck, I told you that I can’t tell you,” he says, but there’s no spite in his tone. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.

“I know, but are we going to have to walk much further? Because I think my legs are going to give out soon,” he whines, enjoying the opportunity to indulge himself in a bit of dramatic flair. Mark doesn’t seem to mind though, and Donghyuck wonders if he’s already grown immune to his antics. 

“Actually, we’re here,” Mark squeezes his hand gently, and Donghyuck has to peel his eyes away from the other boy’s pretty face to realise what he’s talking about. 

Donghyuck had been so distracted by his own thoughts that he had paid little attention to where they were going, and it’s after a beat of silence that he recognises where they are. And  _ oh. _

Across the large intersection, the distinctive triangular structures of the Louvre stand tall, their glass panels reflecting the glimmering golden streetlight and lonely clouds still floating in the evening sky. Donghyuck sucks in a breath, because he never really realised how beautiful the old art gallery was, until now. 

He’d been here many times, mostly as a child, as part of obligatory sightseeing with his parents every time they came to stay with his grandmother in the summertime. The novelty of  _ La Joconde _ had quickly worn off, and it was always followed by hours of trailing endless hallways filled with seemingly endless amounts of artworks. At some point, they all started to look the same, and a younger Donghyuck just wanted to go home.

It’s because of that fact that the sudden beauty he finds in the old art gallery surprises him. Mark has moved from his side to face him, taking both of his hands in his. The setting sunlight dips his pale skin in gold, and it’s almost blinding. Donghyuck fights the urge to raise a hand in front of his eyes to shield them. 

Instead, he steps closer, until he’s standing close enough to feel Mark’s breath on his skin. 

“What are we doing here?” he asks, not knowing or minding how long they had been in silence like that. Mark breaks into an excited grin again.

“I told you,” he hums, feigning annoyance, but Donghyuck knows he’s joking. The look in his eye gives him away. “It’s a surprise, Donghyuck.”

“I know, I know,” he singsongs, eyes drifting back to the large gallery in the background. He decides that if he made it this far without giving in to curiosity, surely he can last a little longer. 

“Come on, let’s go,” Mark says, tugging lightly on his hand. They walk side by side across the intersection until they reach the security guard waiting at the entrance. Much to his surprise, Donghyuck finds that there is almost no queue. A small gasp escapes his lips, and Mark turns to look at him, reading the surprise on his face.

“There’s almost no one here,” Donghyuck says as they walk with ease through the mostly empty barricades. 

“I know,” Mark says, the grin back on his lips. “On Tuesday night’s there is hardly ever many people here.”

“So that’s why we’re going on a date on a Tuesday,” Donghyuck says, his heart beating faster in his chest as he realises that he’s put a label on what they’re doing. If Mark notices, it doesn’t show. The other boy says nothing, merely smiling and pulling him inside the gallery.

In the several days that have come and gone since the events that unfolded in Mark’s apartment, they had yet to directly discuss it, or even mention it at all, now that Donghyuck thinks about it. The fact that things still seem to be intimate between them brings him some relief, but part of him still longs to know what this means to Mark, where he wants this to go.

His thoughts are lost as they descend the stairs into the underground level of the gallery. It’s been years since he’s been here, Donghyuck realises wistfully. So many childhood memories have been trapped down here, and with every step they take deeper into the gallery, it’s as if he’s reliving them. For the first time in a while, he misses his parents back home, a feeling he thought he had long since grown out of. 

Mark must sense it, because he slows down from where he had been leading ahead to fall into step with Donghyuck. “Is everything alright?” he asks, and the concern in voice is almost palpable.

“Yeah, just reliving some old memories,” he laughs, brushing it off and willing himself to focus on the present. He’s here with Mark now, and that’s all that matters. Mark smiles, the same kindness in his eyes that’s always there, as they round a corner into a large room. 

It’s lined with paintings and statues, but Mark leads him to one corner in particular. Donghyuck stops in front of it, recognising the infamous  _ Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss  _ sculpture. He remembers seeing it as a child, but never paying much attention to it.

Now though, it’s captivating. The way Cupid holds Psyche so tenderly, and the ways she clings to his shoulders as if he is her source of strength is entrancing. Somehow, with just marble, the sculptor has managed to capture love and trust in physical form. Donghyuck’s heart does a small somersault in his chest as he turns to face Mark, who isn’t looking at the sculpture at all. He’s looking at Donghyuck with an unreadable gaze.

“Mark?” he asks, his voice sounding small. “What’s happening?”

“Do you remember that day in  _ Le Jardin du Luxembourg _ , after I painted you for the first time?” Mark asks, and Donghyuck nods, not daring to speak and interrupt whatever is about to be said. He hangs off every beat of silence that passes until Mark speaks again. “I told you that day that as a child I decided I wanted to become an artist after I fell in love for the first time.”

Donghyuck nods again, reliving the memories of that day in the garden, albeit with a bit of confusion about where this is going. He remembers the story, though. 

“Do you see this statue?” Mark continues, gesturing to Eros and Psyche beside them. “It was here that I first fell in love, and it was with this sculpture.”

Silence falls and Donghyuck tries to process what Mark has told him. He’s not sure that it surprises him that the first time Mark fell in love was with a sculpture, but he still wants to understand why.

“What made you fall in love with it?” he asks, and Mark smiles, as if he had been hoping Donghyuck would ask that question. Donghyuck’s heart is beating faster and faster in his chest, and he has the growing sense that something significant is happening, that something meaningful is transpiring in the words and glances shared between them that he can’t quite place. 

“It wasn’t Eros or Psyche I was in love with,” Mark explains, his hands coming to hold Donghyuck’s own. The cool touch sends a shiver down his spine, but he wills himself to focus. “It was what they had between them that I fell in love with. There’s nothing but pure connection between them; trust, admiration, sensitivity. I wanted that for myself. And I wanted to capture that, through my art.”

Donghyuck blinks, no longer capable of even nodding as he listens to Mark speak. The story is beautiful, and very fitting for the artistic boy and his long held desire to capture beauty. Donghyuck remembers wondering if he would ever get to hear this story, and now that he has, he doesn’t know what to do with it. Part of him feels hesitant, as if he has intruded on a part of Mark that wasn’t truly his to see. 

The way Mark is holding his hands and gazing into his eyes tells a different story, though. 

“Donghyuck, I have spent years chasing that connection, trying to find it and express it through art,” Mark says, one of his hands leaving Donghyuck’s to rest instead at his cheek, and Donghyuck wants nothing but to lean in until their lips are meeting halfway. He doesn’t though, because he wants to hear what Mark is about to say. “I want you to know that I have found it.”

A beat of silence.

“Donghyuck, I have found it with you.”

The words dance delicately in the space between them, and suddenly it’s as if time has come to a stop, and nothing in the world is moving, living or breathing except for them. 

“Mark,” Donghyuck tries, both his mind and his voice failing him. In that moment he wishes there were words he could say to capture how that makes him feel, how  _ Mark  _ makes him feel. But there aren’t. Those words don’t exist, they never have, and it’s the reason souls like him and Mark turn to art to express it.

So, Donghyuck does the only thing he knows how to do, the only thing that could come close to articulating the inner workings of his heart. He places a tender hand on the other boy’s shoulder, eyes already closing as he leans closer, chasing the soft, warm lips that he remembers so vividly, that he knows he will find.

Soon enough Mark’s lips meet his, and it’s unlike their first kiss in so many ways. Mark’s lips feel just as tender, and fit just as perfectly on his own, but there’s something else present here that threatens to knock the breath out of Donghyuck’s chest. There’s something akin to longing, intermingled with the delicate affection, and it lies in the way they chase each other’s touch, hands moving to wrap around waists and hips, not parting for breath even though they both desperately need it.

They’re eventually forced to part when they run out of oxygen, but their foreheads remain pressed together, hands around each other’s necks to keep the other close. There’s a warmth blossoming in Donghyuck’s chest again, accompanied by something deeper, like a gentle but salient voice whispering to him in the night. Something he doesn’t recognise. Something he hasn’t felt in a while.

“Mark,” and there’s no one around but he whispers it anyway, as if wanting to keep this moment between the two of them. “I wish there was another way that I could say it, but I feel the same.”

“It’s okay, Donghyuck,” Mark whispers back as he starts to smile again. “I know.”

Those two words alone bring Donghyuck more relief than Mark could know. He’s about to lean in again, to chase that feeling that is quickly becoming intoxicating, when he remembers something.

“Wait, Mark,” he speaks more clearly this time, reluctantly pulling back to get a better look at the other boy, albeit without ever leaving his embrace. “You said there was a surprise. Was this it?”

“No, actually,” Mark says, smiling as he speaks. Donghyuck finds himself smiling too, despite the nerves that start to flutter in his chest again at the thought there is something more. “I haven’t told you what it is.”

Mark pulls back further, until they’re standing opposite each other with more space to breathe.

“What are you doing in two days’ time?” the other boy speaks again, the same mischievous grin from earlier on his lips once more.

“Um, nothing?” Donghyuck responds, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion.

“Good, because we’re going to an exhibition.” Mark says nonchalantly, but the grin never leaves his face. 

“We are?” Donghyuck asks, rather bewildered. Despite the low light, Mark’s eyes are practically twinkling. 

“Yes.” 

“Whose exhibition?” Donghyuck asks, feeling as though he’s missing the point. As though there’s something that he should have already caught onto, but hasn’t. 

There’s a beat of silence, one that Donghyuck is convinced Mark is drawing out, and maybe that boy also has a flair for the dramatics because internally Donghyuck is going crazy, his heartbeat rapid again and his brain whirring at a thousand miles an hour. 

“Mine, Donghyuck,” Mark says, his gaze never leaving Donghyuck’s. “One of my paintings has been chosen to be shown at the national art gallery.” 

“One of my paintings of you.”

For the second time in the short span of a few minutes, Donghyuck feels the breath leave his chest. He’s left feeling as if the room is spinning, as if nothing is real, the only thing he can focus on being the boy in front of him. 

_ One of my paintings of you.  _ The words ring around his head, not really registering until suddenly it clicks.

“Oh, Mark...,” Donghyuck mumbles, his eyes growing wide.

“Surprise,” Mark says, smiling like an idiot, and just as soon Donghyuck is smiling like that too. He pulls Mark into a hug, and he hears the other boy wheeze slightly as the air is no doubt knocked out of his lungs, but he mustn’t mind because soon he’s hugging Donghyuck back just as tight. 

Donghyuck feels like he’s floating on cloud nine, as if it’s just him and Mark and nothing else in the world matters. They pull apart, and the intimate moment is broken when Donghyuck mockingly punches at Mark’s arm.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, and whilst the punch was just a joke, the question is real. How long had he known about this? 

“Hey!” Mark exclaims, rubbing at his arm but he’s laughing too. “It was meant to be a surprise, I couldn’t  _ tell  _ you,” he says, and his incredulous tone is enough to make Donghyuck laugh. “I had to make sure it was all certain before I told you, and I only found out just a few days ago myself.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I got the call right after you left my house that morning, actually,” Mark smiles, his unwavering gaze on Donghyuck again. He feels himself blushing at the memory. It’s the first time that they have mentioned that day directly, and that only makes it feel more real. Only makes this moment feel more real. 

“Wow, Mark, I’m so proud of you,” Donghyuck says, and his own voice sounds clear despite the state that his head is in. 

“It’s all because of you, Donghyuck,” Mark says, ever sincere and unashamed. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Those words, and the realisation that a painting of himself, by Mark no less, will be hung on a wall for others to see, seems to come in waves. Each one is stronger than the previous, each knocking him off his feet a little more, and soon he feels like he’s drowning, unable to process what this means for him, what it means for Mark. So he does the only thing he seems to know how to do when it comes to said boy. 

Mark laughs in surprise as Donghyuck says nothing, chasing his lips instead. Mark indulges him, meeting him halfway and sighing into the kiss as it deepens. Donghyuck chases more and more, until he doesn’t know where he ends and Mark begins. And perhaps to anyone else in the gallery that evening, they simply look like another artwork, a diptych; two halves of the same whole, telling the same story. 

Perhaps that’s what the two of them look like to Donghyuck as well, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that nothing has ever felt more right than this. 

It’s there, in the stolen kisses and quiet whispers they share that night as they walk home from the gallery, hands intertwined between them. It’s there, when Mark walks him to the door of his apartment, kissing him goodbye before heading to his own home somewhere not too far away. 

It’s there, when the last thing Donghyuck sees that evening is Mark, the silhouette of his body dancing behind tired eyelids as he drifts away into the tender grasp of sleep. And it’s there again even in his unconscious, Mark’s  intoxicating words echoing around his mind, desperate to be heard again and again in the silence of the night.

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'la jaconde' is the french name for the mona lisa, in case you were wondering about that :) I could have put in the notes at the beginning but I didn't want to spoil the fact that they go to the louvre!
> 
> please leave kudos and a comment if you liked this chapter! I'd love to (as always) hear what you guys think!
> 
> thank you again for your patience, it really means the world to me. I'll see you all in the next chapter ! ♡♡♡
> 
> in the mean time, come find me ! [twitter](https://twitter.com/ophelialilies) and [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/ophelialilies)


	6. six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some flowers bloom at night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to chapter six!
> 
> I hope you all had a lovely week, and thank you for being patient with me for this new chapter! uni is semi-okay again as long as I only update once a week, so I hope that's alright with all of you. besides, I don't really want this story to end...it only has one more chapter (and a bonus chapter!). 
> 
> also, this chapter contains sexual content. this has been in the tags since the beginning but just a heads up!
> 
> as always, I hope you enjoy! ♡
> 
> ophelia xx

The sounds of clinking glasses, popping bottles, excited chatter and classical music fill Donghyuck’s ears as he takes in the scene around him. In every direction, there are people of all ages, some students of the academy, some friends and some strangers, all dressed in suits and gowns to see the selectively chosen artworks. They mill around, taking in the various paintings and sculptures filling the large gallery space, but the largest crowd hovers for longer in front of one painting in particular.

A gentle touch on his shoulder makes Donghyuck turn. He doesn’t get far, because the hand travels to his waist, keeping him there. It’s Mark, standing behind him with his body pressed close, lips brushing against Donghyuck’s ear as if to whisper words only meant for him to hear. 

Perhaps it’s the champagne, but Donghyuck finds himself blushing at the sight; from what he can see, the other boy wears a black satin suit, so deep and dark that it reminds Donghyuck of his eyes. He’s smiling, a pretty shade of pink dusting his cheeks and a golden fizzing flute in his delicate fingers. There’s an earring hanging from one of his ears, silver and long enough to graze against the curve of his shoulder. His lips move, whispering something and Donghyuck has to will himself to focus.

“What do you think?” Mark asks, and Donghyuck’s heart starts to pound just a little harder in his chest at the intimacy. Perhaps he should be used to it by now, especially after the moment they shared in the Louvre only days ago, but something about the other boy seems to prevent him from ever getting over the butterflies. It feels as though every time Mark touches him, it’s for the first time. 

Donghyuck pushes the overwhelming feeling to the side to focus on the question. He had arrived only moments ago, spending the minutes milling around the gallery and taking in the artworks. He had caught sight of a particular head of unruly dark hair from across the room immediately, but Mark had been busy discussing his work with attendees and journalists. Donghyuck had smiled to himself, knowing he would be able to see the other boy soon enough, and sure enough, he was right.

“I haven’t seen it yet,” he admits, eyes drifting to the large crowd at the centre of the gallery, hovering like a flock of birds in front of the stand-alone wall which hosts a large painting. 

“I thought so,” Mark whispers, lips trailing from the shell of his ear to the curve of his neck, where he plants a slow kiss. Donghyuck tries not to shiver. “You just arrived, right?”

Incapable of speaking, Donghyuck nods, knowing Mark will feel it.

“Then why don’t we go have a look?” he whispers into his skin, and Donghyuck can feel him smiling against his neck. The hand at Donghyuck’s waist falls only to recapture his fingers in a tender handhold. He follows as Mark leads him toward the centre of the room. The sea of people part as soon as they see the pair, their eyes widening as if in recognition. 

It feels as though the air is knocked from Donghyuck’s lungs by some invisible force when the painting finally comes into view. It’s large but not too large, inhabiting the right amount of space on the wall to command attention without asserting superiority. 

It takes Donghyuck a moment to actually _see_ the painting, momentarily distracted by Mark’s gentle squeezing of his hand and the beating heart in his chest. But when he actually sees it, it’s suddenly all he can focus on.

Not to his surprise, it’s a painting of him. He had prepared himself for that much. What he hadn’t expected was for it to be a painting he hasn’t seen before. For how could Mark paint him without him knowing?

Except, somehow Mark has done just that. 

The painting is all soft colours and rotating sunlight, like all of his paintings, except all of its light falls on the depiction of Donghyuck himself at the centre, naked and shining and glinting in golden hues. He stands tall, his eyes unwavering as they meet the gaze of the viewer, something pensive dwelling in them that Donghyuck himself can’t place. It’s something that could never be described in words, that has to be captured instead by art. Like the impenetrable gaze of one of Vermeer’s girls. 

There’s no background, merely a wash of fading whites, meaning that the boy at the centre demands to be seen, to be known. His body curves and cascades as if carved from marble, his mousy hair curly and shining on top of his head. But there’s something else. 

Donghyuck hadn’t noticed it immediately, but he sees it now. From his back stems two delicate wings, white and feathery like that of an angel, and if it weren’t for the light he would have missed them amongst the soft background. 

The people around him hover nearby, their faces moving from the painting to Donghyuck and back, but he doesn’t notice. He’s too busy turning to face Mark, finding the other boy waiting with a patient smile and a glint in his eye.

“What do you think?” he asks, his voice calm and even, and so unlike how Donghyuck is feeling.  
  
“What do I think?” Donghyuck doesn’t mean to whisper but it comes out that way, his voice trapped in his throat. Mark must sense the state he’s in because he guides him away from the crowd almost immediately. Donghyuck almost laughs at the way the guests instantly fill the space the two had left, eyes glued to the painting once more. 

Mark doesn’t say anything until they’re away from the painting, leading him out of a small door on the side of the room that spills out into a private hallway. It’s silent and so unlike the buzz of energy from the gallery and Donghyuck releases a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding.

“Donghyuck, are you alright?” Mark asks, pressing him gently against the wall and lowering his head so he can search Donghyuck’s eyes. In the other boy’s, Donghyuck can see swirling emotion of such intensity that he has to look away.

“Yes, I...,” Donghyuck tries, pausing to catch his breath. “I’m alright, just overwhelmed.”

“What’s overwhelming you?” Mark asks, stepping back to give Donghyuck space. It’s then that he realises how much he had craved that proximity.

“Mark...that painting. I can’t even begin to articulate how it makes me feel,” Donghyuck tries to say, his head clearing a little with time. Relief floods Mark’s face as he breaks out into his usual lopsided smile which Donghyuck can’t help but return. 

“I thought something was wrong, I thought you didn’t like it,” Mark breathes out, and Donghyuck realises how his actions could have been interpreted. Without thinking he cups Mark’s cheek, his heart fluttering as Mark leans into the touch, leaning closer again. 

“I could never dislike one of your paintings, Mark,” Donghyuck says, enjoying the view as Mark’s smile only widens. “I was just stunned, really. It’s so beautiful,” he pauses, basking in Mark’s smile for a moment. “I’m not at all surprised that it was chosen, Mark.”

Said boy’s eyes crinkle into half moons that rival the brightness of the stars in the sky.

“It’s only because it’s a painting of you, darling.”

Donghyuck blushes a furious shade of red, averting his gaze from the other boy’s intense one. His words ring inside his head, as if refusing to be processed, as if his mind is convinced that they must be relived and felt over and over again. 

“How did you do it?” he asks, out of curiosity and to distract himself. Mark hums under his breath and Donghyuck can feel the exhalation on his skin. “How did you paint me without me being there?”

“As it turns out, with you I don’t need a reference,” Mark says, with a mischievous grin that has Donghyuck’s heart doing somersaults. His mind seems to run a million miles an hour as he realises that Mark has been painting him outside of their meetings. That there are probably other paintings of him that he has yet to see. He only blushes harder at that thought. 

“It would be hard to forget this face,” Mark adds, taking Donghyuck’s chin between his fingers. The subtle gesture makes their eyes meet again, and he isn’t surprised to find the same unwavering intensity residing there in the other boy’s eyes. The same intensity he can feel in his own heart. 

Memories of the last time they saw each other dance behind Donghyuck’s eyes, of how their lips had fit so perfectly together. How he had felt like he was walking on air, Mark’s lips being the only thing to tether him to the ground. 

They seem to have the same thought, as both boys lean toward the other, Mark’s eyes finally leaving Donghyuck’s only to find a home on his lips. They’re so close now that it’s the ghost of a kiss, when a loud voice calls, breaking them apart.

“Mark!” the unfamiliar voice shouts from somewhere down the hallway, near the entry to the gallery. It’s a boy with platinum hair and a neat ponytail, dressed similarly to Mark and Donghyuck as he waves them over. “Professor’s here and she wants to talk to you!” 

Mark sighs, pulling away with visible reluctance that makes Donghyuck laugh despite feeling the same way. Mark’s eyes seem to be apologising as he mutters that he has to go, and Donghyuck sends him away with a small kiss to the forehead. The other boy’s eyes linger on him as he walks away, throwing one last glance before stepping through the doorway, back into the gallery and out of sight. 

Donghyuck exhales, his head falling back against the wall as he tries to even out his breathing. There’s a silly smile on his lips and any passerby would think that he’s drunk, but he knows the real reason for this intoxicating feeling. And, it has nothing to do with alcohol. 

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

“Honestly, when I suggested that you volunteer for life drawing, I didn’t expect it to turn out like this,” Jaemin says, gesturing around the gallery vaguely, his hair now an incandescent shade of blue. His cheeks are flushed and his hand is wrapped rather suspiciously around Renjun’s waist, but that’s a line of enquiry that Donghyuck will have to follow up later.

“Neither did I,” Donghyuck admits through a laugh, momentarily reminiscing on that day at the cafe when Jaemin first proposed the idea. How different things could have been if he had never seen Jaemin that day, or if Jaemin had never had the idea at all. Now, he stands here, sipping on champagne with some of his closest friends, a large oil painting of himself naked hanging in the background.

As the hours creep deeper and deeper into the night, Donghyuck expects guests to filter out slowly, either for dinner or returning to their homes. Instead, the gallery only becomes busier, with excited late arrivals filing in to see the new works. The crowd before Mark’s painting remains the largest, only growing in size, a fact that makes it even more difficult for the situation to feel less surreal. 

“I’m proud of you, Donghyuck,” Renjun calls over the noise. Donghyuck isn’t entirely sure what Renjun is proud of him for, but that doesn’t stop the pleasant feeling from blooming in his chest, so he smiles and thanks his friend. 

Jaemin and Renjun eventually leave to actually look at the paintings, since they had been engrossed in conversation with Donghyuck since they arrived almost an hour ago. Donghyuck watches as they turn to the nearby wall of artworks, eyeing their continued embrace curiously. He’s just about to ponder it further when, for the second time that evening, someone wraps their hands around his waist. 

It’s Mark again, but this time Donghyuck can turn to see the other boy, unsurprised but nonetheless pleased to see the smile on his face. (And maybe Donghyuck hasn’t quite gotten over how gorgeous he looks in a suit). 

“Hey,” Mark murmurs, brushing their noses together. 

“Hey yourself,” Donghyuck murmurs back, matching Mark’s childlike grin. Donghyuck knows they look like lovesick idiots, and that neither of them has had enough to drink to excuse it that way, but he can’t find it within himself to care, and clearly neither can Mark. Instead, Donghyuck wraps his arms around Mark’s neck, fully prepared to kiss him right here and now if that’s what it takes. Mark must read his mind, because his eyes crinkle knowingly.

“Want to get out of here?” Mark asks, his voice unreadable, and _oh._ Sure, Donghyuck had been prepared to kiss him in front of everyone, but he hadn’t been prepared for that question, nor the layers of unvoiced questions hidden quietly beneath it. 

“Don’t you have to stay?” Donghyuck asks, playing the devil’s advocate even though he desperately wants the answer to be no. 

“Not really,” Mark responds, and Donghyuck’s heart is picking up its pace in his chest. “I’ve already spoken to everyone who came to see my work, and it’s getting late. The gallery closes soon.”

Donghyuck hums under his breath, eyeing the large metallic clock over the glass entrance to the modern gallery. It reads a quarter past eleven. Despite the time, others show no signs of leaving, but that doesn’t mean that they can’t. 

“Are you sure?” Donghyuck asks once more just to be certain. Mark nods, not bothering to hide the way that his eyes flicker from Donghyuck’s eyes to his lips. It makes Donghyuck blush, almost overwhelmed by the feeling, and so he excuses himself to say goodbye to his friends.

Said friends give him the most smug, knowing looks he has ever seen on their faces, but he can’t bring himself to care. Besides, with the way that they’re hanging off each other this evening, he has plenty of ammunition for teasing them later.

He says polite goodbyes to a few others, mostly just visitors of the exhibition who recognise him from the painting. They gush over how gorgeous he is, how gorgeous the painting is, and Donghyuck feels both flattered and uncomfortable knowing that they know exactly what he looks like naked. Alas, that is a luxury he gave away long ago when he agreed to life modelling, and so he takes it in his stride and thanks them nonetheless. 

When he’s finally done, Mark appears to be done too, because when he searches the crowd for him, he finds the other boy waiting by the exit. He’s engaged in comfortable conversation with the security guard, and Donghyuck can’t help the surprised look he sends Mark when he approaches. The other boy interlaces their hands silently.

“Good night,” he says to the guard as he turns toward the door, holding it open for Donghyuck. His feet meet the street pavement and Mark follows soon after, the door to the gallery sliding closed. It closes out the noise too, leaving the two boys with only the sounds of the city.

“How do you know him?” Donghyuck asks the question burning in his mind.

“Who?” Mark asks as they walk down the street, in the wrong direction from Donghyuck’s apartment but the right direction toward Mark’s. 

“The security guard.”

“Oh, him? I don’t know him,” Mark laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck the way he seems to do on the rare occasions that he’s embarrassed. “We were just chatting while I waited for you.”

“Really?” Donghyuck asks rather incredulously, although he supposes that at this point he shouldn’t be surprised, considering how instantly comfortable he felt with Mark upon meeting him for the first time. 

“We had something in common, at least.”

“Oh? What’s that?” Donghyuck cocks his head to the side to get a better look at the other boy curiously. 

“We both think you’re beautiful,” Mark says simply, but his face gradually pulls into a smile as he watches Donghyuck fall apart at his words. No matter how many times Mark has expressed that very sentiment, nothing seems to change. Donghyuck feels just as lightheaded, just as swept off his feet. He smiles, more to himself than anyone else. Mark smiles too, and they fall into comfortable silence, before Donghyuck remembers where they’re going.

“Are we going back to yours?” he asks, his own voice sounding rather shy despite himself. He’s never really been one to be shy before, but as always, everything is different with Mark.

“Is that alright?” Mark asks in turn, his brows momentarily knitting together in concern before Donghyuck laughs.

“Of course, I was just checking that that’s where we’re going,” Donghyuck says when he finally catches his breath, and Mark smiles, at ease again. They turn a corner, peeling away from the main road and toward the backstreets that wind toward Mark’s apartment. It’s dark and difficult to see but Donghyuck remembers them still; there’s something familiar in the way the air changes, becoming still and peaceful as they walk past balconies upon balconies. Donghyuck doesn’t have to look to know that there are flowers there, hanging from each and every one. 

“Thank you, Donghyuck,” Mark says, his voice clear and resonant through the quiet night. 

“For what?” Donghyuck asks, unsure of what the other boy means. There’s a pause, as Mark seems to search for the right words.

“Tonight, the exhibition,” Donghyuck watches his lips move as he speaks. “I could never have done all of this without you.”

“Mark–,” Donghyuck tries, but to his surprise Mark cuts him off with a giggle, a sweet sound that’s like music to his soul. He had missed that laugh.

“I know what you’re going to say, but I mean it,” Mark starts. “Yes, I could have still painted, but I wouldn’t have had the inspiration to do so. In such a short amount of time you have become so intrinsic to my work. I can’t imagine art without you.”

Lucky for Donghyuck, as Mark finishes his sentence they reach the steps to his apartment, and instead of trying to think of words that would do his feelings justice, he chooses action instead. Donghyuck turns to face Mark, moving so quickly that when their lips connect Mark lets out a surprised sound. It quickly turns to a sigh as he melts against Donghyuck, both their lips and bodies slotting together like two halves of the same whole. 

There’s a strange buzzing sound which Donghyuck quickly recognises as the doorbell machine, which Mark’s back is currently pressed against. He must have rung multiple apartments because three people answer at once, mumbling distorted sounds of confusion and anger. They pull apart from the kiss because both of them are smiling like idiots, so impatient that they have likely woken several elderly people from sleep at an ungodly hour. 

Mark takes Donghyuck’s hand in his once more, whispering _let’s go_ through his grin, his eyes shining brighter than the crescent moon in the sky above. They take the stairs rather hurriedly, anticipation building with each step Donghyuck takes, laughter still bubbling in his throat. His heart is beating in his chest, the smile not leaving his lips as they climb higher, until they’re reaching the top floor with only one more door to walk through. 

Mark must be considerably more in control of himself than Donghyuck is, because his hands don’t shake as he pulls out his keys and unlocks the door. Instead, he pulls Donghyuck through quickly, wasting no time pinning him against the door. Donghyuck lets out a surprised laugh that turns into a breathy moan as Mark’s body presses flush against his.

Perhaps with anyone else he would have been embarrassed about that noise, but Mark has already stripped him bare with just his eyes, many times. Mark has already looked into every vulnerability that may linger in the crooks and crevices of his body, and so Donghyuck doesn’t mind. In fact, he wants to be seen. He wants to be known, and understood. Mark had made him feel that way before, with his brushes and his paint, but this is new. 

Mark takes the lead this time, kissing him in such a way that leaves him breathless. He finds himself chasing Mark’s lips, his touch, as if he could breathe life into him, could give him back the air that he’s losing. Donghyuck doesn’t mind the feeling because Mark gives it to him, in the way he parts his lips and allows Donghyuck entrance to his own mouth. 

Donghyuck groans as he is forced to pull away for air, but it’s worth it when he catches a glimpse of Mark’s hooded eyes and swollen lips. The other boy wastes no time moving his lips to the place below Donghyuck’s ear, where he’s most sensitive, trailing delicate kisses down his neck. With each kiss they increase in intensity, until they’re littered around his collarbones and Donghyuck knows they’ll be there tomorrow. He can’t help but smile at the thought – lilac lovebites on his golden skin, a sign that he is his. 

Once he’s caught his breath Mark’s lips are on his again, and he finds himself wanting more. Impatiently, Donghyuck rolls along the wall until their positions are flipped, and Mark’s back is pressed against the door. Said boy’s eyes widen in surprise before his lips curl into a smile.

“Donghyuck,” he murmurs, and his voice sounds heady with desire. Donghyuck hums in response against his neck where he’s now leaving his own marks. He realises that for the first time since he met Mark, the other boy feels warm beneath his fingers. It’s an electrifying realisation, one that sends a shiver down his spine. Mark has always been transparent about how Donghyuck makes him feel, but this kind of undeniably tangible demonstration goes straight to Donghyuck’s head, and then immediately south.

Without thinking he lowers himself until he’s on his knees, pushing Mark’s dress shirt up to kiss along the tender exposed skin of Mark’s abdomen. He had suspected that the other boy was strong, but the defined outline of abs still manages to surprise him. From above him Mark groans, throwing his head back against the door so that all Donghyuck can see from his position is Mark’s neck. 

Donghyuck’s fingers hover at the zipper of Mark’s dress pants as he pauses. He doesn’t want to disturb the beautiful sight that is Mark right now, but he must.

“Mark?” he calls, and the other boy lowers his head to meet his gaze. There’s nothing more than pure lust dancing in the depths of his eyes. 

“Mm?” Mark hums, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“Can I?” Donghyuck asks, his eyes flicking towards Mark’s groin and back to meet his eyes. There’s a beat of silence before Mark speaks.

“Please,” he says, and that’s all Donghyuck needs to hear. His fingers work quickly to unzip Mark’s pants and pull them low until they’re hanging at his ankles. He takes his time, trailing kisses along Mark’s length over the fabric of his underwear. Mark groans again, his hips rising to meet Donghyuck’s lips, and he enjoys every moment, the thought that he’s the one doing this to the other boy. 

Soon he pulls down his underwear too, using the element of surprise to his advantage and taking Mark in his mouth all at once. It must work, because one of Mark’s hands flies to his hair, tangling in his curls gently. Donghyuck moves at a tantalising pace, fast enough to provide some friction but not enough for it to ever _be_ enough. 

It seems to have this effect, for soon Mark’s steady moans turn to _Donghyuck_ ’s, and Donghyuck has to release the other boy from his mouth to meet his gaze.

“Donghyuck,” Mark repeats, but his eyes are on Donghyuck’s lips. Donghyuck runs his tongue along them, enjoying how Mark’s eyes follow its path. “I can’t wait,” he states, and Donghyuck couldn’t agree more. The anticipation since Mark had pulled him into that hallway earlier in the evening isn’t even half of the excitement he had for this moment. Donghyuck had been dreaming of being with Mark like this since the other boy first laid eyes on him.

“Neither can I,” Donghyuck says, rising from his knees only to be caught in Mark’s hands again. The other boy pulls him into another kiss, passionate but short because his hands are busy making a home around Donghyuck’s thighs. Suddenly, Donghyuck is hoisted into his arms, letting out a surprised squeak as it happens. Mark giggles at the sound, and _oh gosh_ how pretty that sound is. Donghyuck is sure he will never get over it. 

Mark walks them backward toward the bed, and that’s when Donghyuck remembers where they are. They hadn’t gotten far at all, not making it past the door, so now he has the opportunity to take in Mark’s apartment in the nightlight. It looks the same, but feels different, or perhaps that’s just because Mark’s lips are on his this time. 

Mark places Donghyuck gently on the bed, and the sheets are just as soft as he remembers. Donghyuck moves himself backward until he’s lying on his back, Mark’s thighs straddling his waist. His fingers work to unbutton Mark’s shirt as Mark’s do the same to his, and soon they’re both shirtless, skin meeting skin as Mark leans down to capture his lips once more. Donghyuck sighs, releasing the small amount of nerves that his heart is still clinging to. He’s done this many times before – even had a casual but constant lover – but everything feels new with Mark. Everything feels different, but better. 

As they continue to kiss, Mark makes steady work at unzipping his pants, pulling them off and his underwear too in one graceful movement. The cool air of the evening rushes to caress Donghyuck’s now entirely exposed body, and he watches Mark’s eyes take him in from above. 

He feels bare, raw, but not vulnerable. He feels seen, and by the only person who seems to matter. Something in Mark’s eyes shines through the darkness as his eyes come to rest on Donghyuck’s chest, which heaves with each laboured breath he takes. It’s not only the kisses that leave him breathless – it’s the sight of Mark above him, of his uncharacteristically warm skin against his own. 

“You know, I’ve seen you naked before,” Mark says, lips dipping to move over Donghyuck’s skin in a way that makes him shiver, arching his back into the touch. “But I think I like you best like this.” 

“I like you best like this, too,” Donghyuck manages to say through his breathy exhales, because it’s true. Mark has seen him close to this state before, but he has never seen the other boy in the same way. Part of Donghyuck had always wondered what Mark would look like with pleasure on his lips. And as it turns out, the answer to that question is _just as beautiful._

Mark captures his lips once more, his hand venturing toward Donghyuck’s legs. It barely brushes against his length, the ghost of a touch, instead coming to rest gently on his inner thigh. The hint of friction alone has Donghyuck’s mind spinning out of control, and that’s when he realises just how desperate he is. Just how much he wants this.

Donghyuck spreads his legs for Mark like honey does for a bee, his eyes fluttering open as Mark pulls away to take in the sight. 

“Oh,” Mark says, “You are really something else.” 

And Donghyuck is blushing, not out of shame but something much deeper. 

“Are you ready?” Mark asks, and when Donghyuck nods the other boy reaches toward the draw of his bedside table to pull out a bottle of lube. He spreads some of its contents on his fingers, and Donghyuck watches as the hands that he’s come to adore seem to glint in the moonlight the same way Mark’s eyes do. His hand comes to hover over Donghyuck’s entrance just as his own breathing rapidly becomes more ragged and anticipating. 

“Donghyuck?” Mark asks, his eyes searching out his gaze. 

“Please,” is all he can exhale in response, and Donghyuck will later realise that he had perfectly mirrored Mark’s earlier words. 

Mark’s lips kiss down his chest, his nipples, the soft flesh of his stomach to the moles on his hip bones as he enters one finger, then another and another, until Donghyuck is a moaning mess around his hand. Such little friction has never felt so good. Any and every touch Mark gives him, Donghyuck will take. 

Mark hums, the vibration resonating across Donghyuck’s skin, giving him goosebumps. He arches his back, rapidly realising that he needs _more_. He needs _Mark._

“Mark,” he chokes out, hoping the other boy will understand.

“I know, darling,” Mark whispers against his thigh, planting a delicate kiss against the soft flesh there. Then he’s removing his fingers, and Donghyuck is suddenly reeling in the loss, feeling more desperate than ever. Mark positions himself so that his length is against Donghyuck’s entrance, his hands come to rest on either side of his chest and his head falling low so that the stray curls of his dark hair tickle Donghyuck’s neck. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Donghyuck pants, hands circling around Mark’s biceps, hoping that somehow they will keep him grounded. Mark moves so slowly, so carefully, as if fearing Donghyuck may break with one movement too sudden. Although Mark’s not entirely wrong, because fragile is exactly how he makes him feel. After all, a work of art is always breakable. 

Except, as it becomes increasingly clear, Mark could never break Donghyuck. His entire work and passion revolves around preserving him, and so Donghyuck lets himself go, submitting completely to the pure feeling that ripples through his body as Mark finally enters him completely.

A moan escapes both their lips as skin meets skin, the feeling of complete connection almost overwhelming. They couldn’t be closer than they are in this moment, and that alone is enough to drive Donghyuck crazy. Mark pauses for a moment, leaving their hips connected like that as one of his hands cups Donghyuck’s cheek. 

“Is this okay?” Mark asks, concern so readable on his face, in the way his eyebrows knit together. Donghyuck actually laughs, a breathless sound that ripples through his body, only adding to the heat pooling in his stomach and the warmth blossoming in his chest.

“Yes, it’s okay,” Donghyuck tells the other boy, shifting so that he’s propped up on his elbows, close enough to slot their lips together without Mark having to move an inch. “More. Please,” he whispers against the other boy’s lips, and soon Mark is moving again, slowly but surely finding a steady rhythm. Donghyuck falls on his back, Mark’s lips following him there so that they never part. Mark’s pace quickens, and the way he leaves almost completely only to drive back in has Donghyuck seeing stars behind his eyelids. Soon he’s moaning against Mark’s mouth, the other boy panting too. 

He’s not sure how much time has passed but the pleasure is rising rapidly and he can feel his body start to chase its own orgasm, the elusive wave of ecstasy that is just beyond his reach. One particular motion from Mark has him throwing his head back, the other boy’s lips immediately on his neck as if out of instinct.

“Mark, I’m close,” he gasps, which only serves to make Mark quicken his movements. The sound of skin meeting skin is intoxicating, and so is the feeling that comes with it; one of warmth and sparks flying. Just like their lips, they fit together so well, like two pieces of the same puzzle. “I’m so close,” he mumbles again, and it’s as if he’s out of body once more, like seeing himself in a painting for the first time. He hears his own voice and it sounds wrecked. 

“Me too,” Mark pants out from above him. A beat of silence. 

“Come for me, _mon chéri_.”

That’s all it takes to send Donghyuck tumbling over the edge, coming completely undone, reduced to nothing but cries of pleasure and clamped eyelids as he rides the wave of euphoria. The sight alone must be enough for Mark, too, because not too soon after Mark is thrusting through his own orgasm, a moaning mess against Donghyuck’s neck. 

As they come down from their highs, it takes a while for either of them to move. Mark is still perched on top, his length still inside of Donghyuck as they try to breathe normally again. When the last wave of pleasure washes out to sea, Mark pulls out and collapses beside Donghyuck, who instinctively curls into his embrace. 

They stay like that for a moment longer, neither speaking, as Donghyuck listens to the hammering of Mark’s heart in his chest. 

“Wow,” Donghyuck finally says once he’s certain the sound he makes will be cohesive rather than nonsense. What he’s thinking, and what he wants to say but can’t seem to, is that this felt different. With other lovers, with Lucas, it had been about pleasure. But this had been something more – connection, like the reuniting of two souls that had known each other long before the two of them met. 

“Wow,” Mark returns, sounding equally as speechless. “That was something else,” the boy continues, and Donghyuck sighs in agreement, snuggling closer into his chest. Mark’s pale skin is covered in sweat but he doesn’t mind, because it’s warm and is starting to feel rather like home. His eyes flutter closed as exhaustion seeps in, the kind of peace that one only finds after sex. Perhaps minutes or only seconds go by as Donghyuck drifts off, only to suddenly become alert as a thought presents itself from the depths of his mind. 

“I was Psyche,” he speaks into the silence, his words slightly muffled from where they’re pressed against Mark’s skin. 

“Hm?” the other boy mumbles, the sound resonating through his chest. 

“That painting of me. I was Psyche, wasn’t I?” Donghyuck asks, only coming to that realisation as the words leave his mouth. A moment passes before he feels Mark smile against his forehead. He doesn’t need to see it to imagine what it looks like. He had become all too familiar with that smile.

“Yeah, you were,” Mark mumbles, and he sounds just as sleepy as Donghyuck feels. Despite that fact, Donghyuck still feels a rush; a new feeling dancing slowly through his body, as if the seeds planted in his chest long ago have finally come to flower. After all, some flowers bloom at night. 

“You are.”

Those are the last words Donghyuck hears before the gentle hands of sleep come to claim him, guiding him away into a rest more peaceful than he’s had in a long time. Just because he’s unconscious, though, doesn’t mean Mark isn’t still there with him, even in sleep. He dreams of angels, of sunsets and delicate kisses, and the same words over and over: _“I can’t imagine art without you.”_

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha this chapter is called six and they had s*x haha ! i'll go now :) also ten points to gryffindor if you noticed the reload reference!
> 
> please leave kudos and a comment if you liked this chapter! I'd love to (as always) hear what you guys think! it really makes my day to hear your thoughts !!
> 
> see you in the next chapter lovelies!! ♡♡♡ love you all so much, sending you lots of hugs xx
> 
> in the mean time, come talk to me !! [twitter](https://twitter.com/ophelialilies) and [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/ophelialilies)


	7. sept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> je t'aime de tout mon coeur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to the seventh and final chapter of mon chéri!
> 
> I decided to combine the final and bonus chapter in one post because it made more sense that way! I hope you like this one, it made me very emotional to write ahaha.
> 
> I'll see you at the end! happy reading x
> 
> ophelia 🌷

The gentle ringing of a bicycle bell somewhere, the flight of birds and the chatter of pedestrians reaches Donghyuck’s ears in waves, pulling him away from his dance with sleep. There’s a gentle breeze filtering through the apartment, its cool touch caressing his bare skin. He sighs pleasantly, now awake. Opening his eyes, Donghyuck finds himself tangled in the white sheets, one leg in and one leg out.

He rubs at his eyes, trying to rub away the remnants of sleep that linger there in protest. The morning sun is shining through the open windows, warm and tender and a reminder of the night before. Donghyuck lets his eyes flutter closed again for a moment, biting back a smile as he thinks of Mark, his gentle kisses and the way they had fit together so well. 

Just like everything with Mark, the pleasure had been unlike any other. So too had been the peace he felt afterwards, the swelling of happiness in his chest as they curled into each other, reduced to nothing more than a tangle of limbs and sighs. 

A thought interrupts the moment as he realises that Mark is not next to him. His eyes fly open again to find the space beside him empty, and the rest of the apartment too. It’s the kind of absence that’s immediately noticeable, as if he can sense Mark is not there. Confused, Donghyuck sits up, untangling himself from the sheets and pacing over to the kitchen bench. 

He sighs in relief when he finds a small piece of paper, words scribbled on it in what must be Mark’s hand writing.

_ Gone to grab breakfast. Be back soon! xx _

With a smile on his face, and a relieved sigh, Donghyuck wanders over to the cupboard that lines one of the apartment’s walls, painted white and decorated with intricate glass doorknobs. 

The only clothing he has with him is the suit that he wore to the exhibition, and Donghyuck finds himself laughing when he turns to see the shirt, pants and blazer discarded on the floor in various locations around the room. Clearly he and Mark had paid little attention to that aspect of sleeping together last night. He turns back to the cupboard, opening it to find shelves and hangers of clothes that are so obviously Mark.

There’s shirts and singlets, leather jackets and denim ones too, with hangers and hangers of skinny jeans. However, what intrigues him is a shimmering piece of fabric buried between two items, glinting in the morning sunlight just enough to catch his eye. He pushes the other items aside to reveal a satin blouse, pearlescent buttons lining the middle where the two halves of fabric meet. A sharp intake of breath speaks to Donghyuck’s surprise, because it seems rather unlike Mark’s style, and so completely like his own.

An idea springs to mind, both making him blush and grin mischievously. He pulls the piece from its hanger gently, tentative not to crease it. The fabric is cool and slippery, just like the dress he designed weeks ago, and he smiles at the memory of posing in it in front of Mark in this very apartment. On the inside of one of the cupboard doors is a mirror, and Donghyuck watches himself as he pulls it over his head. It falls over his frame, oversized and flowing more like a dress than a shirt. It drapes diagonally, revealing one of his collar bones, falling to his upper thigh, covering just enough to be suggestive more than anything.

Satisfied, Donghyuck closes the doors to the cupboard, ruffling his hair and turning to the balcony. The doors that lead outside are open, swaying slightly in the gentle breeze. He pads across the space, stepping out onto the patio where the flowers are in full bloom. The sounds he woke to earlier fill his ears once more, the familiar sounds of the sprawling city below. 

Donghyuck takes a seat and loses himself in watching the people below pass by, some alone and some with hands intertwined with another. Each wears a different expression, telling a different story, and part of him wonders what their lives are like, what they’re feeling in this moment, and if he will ever see them again. There’s something overwhelming about the beauty of anonymity that Donghyuck loses himself in, and so he doesn’t notice when the door to the apartment opens. 

“Donghyuck?” a voice calls. The familiar sound penetrates through his pensive daze and causes him to smile. He turns to find Mark, leg wedged between the door, struggling to close it and hold the large paper bag in his hand at the same time. Donghyuck stands, hurrying over to help the other boy. He doesn’t miss the way Mark stills, his eyes moving over Donghyuck’s body, as if taking in every inch of skin and every curve. As if seeing him for the first time all over again.

“Good morning, darling,” Mark speaks again, and if it were Donghyuck in his position, he knows he would be blushing like a rose. Instead, on Mark’s face he only finds unconcealed wonder. 

“Good morning,” he calls back, taking the bag from Mark’s hands, allowing the other boy to let the door fall closed. Donghyuck takes the bag to the bench, taking a moment to smell it as he walks. It smells like freshly baked bread and coffee, and he sighs pleasantly at the scent while his stomach protests impatiently. Once it’s on the countertop, he turns to find himself caught in Mark’s arms.

“You got us breakfast?” Donghyuck asks, lifting his gaze to meet Mark’s eyes. His hair is ruffled in that lazy sunday kind of way, and his eyes are crinkled with a smile like always. Mark hums under his breath, leaning down to place a delicate kiss to the sensitive skin below Donghyuck’s ear. Said boy shivers in his hold, suddenly feeling all too warm and all too cold in just Mark’s satin blouse. 

“Yeah,” Mark whispers against his skin before pulling back to take Donghyuck in once more. “You were fast asleep when I woke up, so I thought I’d get us something to eat.”

It’s then that Donghyuck remembers how he had done just that, the first time he came to Mark’s apartment. Mark had clearly wanted to return the favour then, and he had finally gotten his chance. Donghyuck smiles at the thought. It’s his turn to nose a gentle kiss at Mark’s neck, leaning forward enough to make contact without ever breaking their embrace. 

“Thank you,” Donghyuck says, feeling his own lips move against Mark’s soft skin. He pulls back when he feels Mark’s chest vibrate, humming as he speaks. 

“How did you sleep?” he’s asking, and there’s a fond smile on his lips that somehow makes Donghyuck feel like he’s freefalling all over again. 

“Really well,” Donghyuck admits with a pleasant sigh, remembering the peace he had found in the other boy’s tender embrace the night before. It also comes with a small blush, remembering the reason for said peace. 

“I thought so,” Mark hums back, a playful lilt to his voice. 

“Oh?” Donghyuck asks, cocking his head to the side. He knows he looks just as playful as Mark right now, but that doesn’t conceal the blush rising on his cheeks at the thought of Mark seeing him sleep. He’s been at his most raw, most vulnerable, with Mark many times before, but again this feels different. 

Mark’s hands fall from where they had been resting comfortably on his waist only to capture his hands. Their fingers intertwine and Donghyuck sighs again, a lazy smile coming to his lips. 

“You looked very peaceful,” Mark says, leaning closer yet. “It reminded me of how you look when I paint you.”   
  
“Really?” Donghyuck asks, almost incredulously. Despite posing for life drawing being rather tranquil, leaving one with much silence and only their thoughts for company, the sheer intensity of Mark’s gaze had meant he never truly relaxed. The moment he did, he would find Mark’s eyes on him once more, and his heart rate would pick up all over again. Mark simply nods, placing another kiss to Donghyuck’s cheekbone, where he knows one of his moles is. 

“And this,” Mark says, gesturing to Donghyuck’s outfit, a playful grin making its way to his face. “You found my shirt.”

“Mhm,” Donghyuck nods, enjoying the look on Mark’s face as he takes him in again, that same intensity in his eyes. “I had nothing to wear, and when I found this I had to. It’s so similar to something that I would own.”

“Well, actually,” Mark starts, detaching one of their hands to rub gentle circles into where the satin fabric hangs over his hip bones. “I bought it because it made me think of you. I wanted to paint you in it one day.”

And something so simple makes the butterflies in Donghyuck’s stomach flutter erratically. Not only has Mark been painting him when he’s not around, but he’s been thinking of him, even buying things that remind Mark of him. The sheer sentimentality of that overwhelms him, and he finds his eyes fluttering closed, suddenly shy.

“Maybe we can have breakfast first?” Donghyuck proposes to distract himself more than anyone. Mark’s eyes travel to the paper bag behind them on the countertop, long forgotten by everyone except Donghyuck’s grumbling stomach. Mark laughs, confirming that  _ yes, he heard that _ , and reaches around Donghyuck to grab the bag.

“Shall we sit on the balcony?” Mark asks, and Donghyuck smiles, because his balcony had quickly become one of Donghyuck’s favourite places in the whole city. (Although perhaps he’s biased, considering the events that transpired on that balcony only a week ago). 

They walk toward the outdoor area in the same comfortable silence that had always lingered between them, as if they had always known each other in some sense. 

This time, Mark holds Donghyuck’s hand, leading him out there gently. They cross the space from inside to outside with their hands interlaced, speaking to intimacy of all the moments they have shared together in such a short amount of time. It almost makes Donghyuck lightheaded, to think of how fast and how slow things have moved, as if both measured and rushed, deliberate and desperate.

Mark takes the seat opposite him, the same one he had sat in when Donghyuck had asked to kiss him for the first time. He reveals two coffees and an assortment of pastries from the bag, one of which makes Donghyuck smile bashfully when he realises that it’s blueberry. Mark had remembered. 

They eat in peaceful silence, Donghyuck’s impatient stomach unable to focus on anything more than food for the time being. Mark doesn’t seem to mind, though, because he sips at his coffee with a small smile on his lips, watching the people below pass by. Donghyuck finds himself watching something else, though. The sun is climbing higher and higher in the sky, ushering in the new day with its golden rays. As the warm light reaches his skin, shimmering in the fabric of his shirt, Donghyuck wonders. 

Unvoiced thoughts seem to come to light in his mind, revealing their unexposed faces to him as if brought to light by the sun itself. He wonders many things, and suddenly he finds himself slowing down his chewing, the blueberry tasting a little less sweet as his throat feeling a little more dry. There are words he wants to say, things he wants to ask, and so he does his best to swallow. 

“Mark?” he starts, calling across the space and silence between them before he can stop himself. Said boy stirs, his eyes refocusing as they move from the street below to find Donghyuck. His brows furrow almost comically as confusion settles on his face.

“Donghyuck?” he asks, leaning forward slightly. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” Donghyuck is quick to reassure him, to reassure himself. “I just had a question.”

Donghyuck can feel his heart beating in his chest, can hear it in his head, as he watches Mark’s face relax slightly. The other boy doesn’t say anything, merely waiting patiently. Donghyuck takes a deep breath, trying to focus, listening to the birds chirping as they flutter past. 

“What are we?” he asks, his voice sounding more small than he had wanted it to. The question hangs in the space between them, and Donghyuck watches Mark’s eyes as his words register. After a moment, the other boy wears an unreadable expression and his browns slowly unfurrow themselves. Something in the stillness of his face says that he already knows his answer.

“What would you like us to be?” Mark asks, and it’s another question instead of an answer. That smile graces his pretty lips once more, and it catches Donghyuck off guard. He releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. 

If Donghyuck is being honest, he’s not sure exactly what he wants them to be. It’s not that his heart doesn’t know what it wants, because my gosh, it does. He doesn’t know what he wants them to be because it feels like they already  _ are.  _ Whatever they are now, is what he wants them to be. And more.

“More than just your muse,” Donghyuck finally says, after thinking for a few moments. The words flow from his lips on their own, and he listens to himself as if out of body. They fit, capturing what he had been feeling perfectly. 

There’s a beat of silence, Mark watching him with that same smile. Except now there’s something sparkling in his eyes too, something that can’t be explained by the morning sunlight. 

“You were never just my muse, Donghyuck,” Mark says, his voice unwavering, and the words are enough to knock the air out of Donghyuck’s lungs. Once again he’s left speechless, like a fish out of water, floundering and somehow drowning on air. But like always, Mark is there to save him.

Said boy stands from his seat, tracing the steps toward Donghyuck until he’s standing above and Donghyuck has to lift his gaze to meet his eyes. For a moment, he can’t see the other boy, because he’s blocking out the sun and its rays trace his silhouette like a halo. But then Mark is taking his hands gently, helping him to stand. Mark doesn’t step back, and so once Donghyuck is upright, their bodies are flush together. 

The denim of Mark’s jeans grazes the bare skin of Donghyuck’s legs and he tries not to shiver. There’s something about Mark’s touch that is always so delicate, as if he fears Donghyuck may break. Mark is looking into his eyes so intently, with so much longing, that he has to bite his lip to avoid averting his gaze.

“Donghyuck,” Mark says, his voice resonating clearly in Donghyuck’s ears. He hangs off every beat of silence until the other boy speaks again. “Would you like to be my boyfriend?”

Something in Donghyuck breaks at those words, like a patience that snaps. He moves forward, heart soaring in his chest as he captures the other boy’s lips. Mark doesn’t hesitate for a moment, emitting a soft sigh as their lips melt together. It’s as if the world around them is spinning, a rotating whirl of balconies, flowers and sunlight, with the two of them at the epicentre of it all. The only thing in focus. 

They move against each other in harmony, like butterflies in flight, and Donghyuck realises that he will probably never get over this feeling. It’s like flying and freefalling at the same time, and perhaps he doesn’t  _ want _ to get over it. 

They pull apart for air only once it’s necessary, and Donghyuck half expects to hear that same woman on the balcony opposite cheering again. A quick glance in that direction tells him that no one’s home, save for a small cat perched on the railing, watching them with wide eyes. 

It’s then that he realises he hasn’t answered Mark’s question. He turns to find the boy watching him, waiting as patiently as ever. 

“Yes,” he mumbles against Mark’s lips, lazily trying to recapture them and speak at the same time. It doesn’t work, and Mark pulls back with evident reluctance. Donghyuck wants to whine, but that would only amuse Mark more, so he speaks instead. “Yes, I want to be yours.”

Suddenly they're smiling at each other like lovestruck idiots all over again, like two flowers blooming in spring.  And that’s how Donghyuck finds himself in Mark’s arms once more, their lips meeting halfway and fitting together perfectly under the morning sunlight. Suddenly everything smells sweeter, sounds clearer, feels better. To anyone else this scene is a painting of its own; the artist and the muse, coming together in every sense of the phrase, poised above their city as if above it all. As if in flight. 

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Shifting spotlights illuminate the slender bodies as they walk the runway one by one, coordinated and elegant and dancing in the light. Around them everything is cast in darkness, the thousands of eyes seated around the room all watching the models move past. From the front row, Donghyuck can see every detail, every button and seam. He watches every design move past with a mix of criticism and pride, always one to see both the good and bad in his work.

Mark squeezes his hand reassuringly, as if he can sense his conflict. Donghyuck smiles, because at this point, he wouldn’t put it past his boyfriend to have a sixth sense developed specifically for perceiving his emotions. Donghyuck turns to Mark, who sits next to him looking ridiculously attractive as always in his tailored suit, that same singular earring dangling from his ear that always seems to send Donghyuck over the edge. 

Mark tears his eyes from the models to meet Donghyuck’s eyes, and it leaves him breathless to see the sheer, raw adoration shimmering there. Mark leans toward him, pressing a kiss to his cheek and whispering in his ear.

_ “I’m so proud of you, mon chéri.” _

Donghyuck turns back to the runway once more with a silly smile on his face and warmth blossoming in his chest, watching as each of his designs walks down the aisle, testimony to months and years of blood, sweat and tears. Pride swells in his chest at the sight of his wildest dreams coming true right before him. Something simmers beneath that feeling, too. Something softer, more delicate, quiet but ready to be heard. It whispers to him, through the humming of his heart, that the boy beside him is just as much a part of this picture as everything else. 

He tries his hardest to focus on the scene unfolding before him, but his mind starts to wander once more, to a thought that has been dancing in his head since he first met Mark.  _ Why do things feel so natural, so right, with Mark?  _

Why has it felt like two sides of the same story being told, ever since their eyes met that day in the art room?

And Donghyuck doesn’t remember it then, and perhaps he never will, but he’s had this thought before, many years ago. 

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Donghyuck stumbles from room to room, tired, exhausted, and desperate to just go home. His grandmother pinches his cheeks and encourages him to hold on a little longer, tells him that they’re almost there, but the end doesn’t seem near enough.

They move into a particularly large room, outlined on every wall by marble busts and paintings. The windows of the room allow the summer sunlight to spill in. It could go anywhere, really, could caress any surface it pleased, and yet it falls almost entirely on a statue of two lovers in the corner. 

Entranced, Donghyuck walks toward it, the many and much taller adults in his path parting to let him through. He stops just short of it, completely entranced by the way one figure holds the other, both of their perfectly carved bodies dipped in sunlight. 

Donghyuck circles the figures, taking in every inch of their frames, captivated by the way they seem to be moving, dancing, falling. Their eyes are connected in a gaze more intense and more alive than Donghyuck has ever seen in life. 

He’s almost at the front again, eyes trained on the statue and not looking where he’s going, so when he bumps into someone he squeaks in surprise. He stumbles back, catching his feet in time to see the other person do the same. It’s a small boy, and by the looks of him he’s not much older nor taller than Donghyuck. 

“Oh, sorry,” the other boy says, rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly. The words Donghyuck may have been about to say die in his throat as he meets the boy’s gaze. The boy has a head of furious dark hair and a blush to match, with sparkly eyes and a pretty smile. He’s staring back, eyes wide and unreadable. He’s almost drowning in his denim jacket, a little too large for his small frame. 

Somehow, Donghyuck finds him even more captivating than the statue beside them. 

“Minhyung!” a voice calls from somewhere behind the little boy, and he turns to see it’s an older woman with equally dark hair. The boy quickly turns back to meet Donghyuck’s inquisitive gaze, before smiling slightly and turning on his heel toward the woman.

As Donghyuck watches him go, he wonders why the boy looks familiar. He’s sure that if he had seen him before, he would remember. And yet something feels so familiar, as if they already know each other, and Donghyuck decides that the boy is easily the most fascinating part of the gallery. The statue comes second.

As Donghyuck and his grandmother walk the familiar route home that evening, to her apartment in the hills of Montmatre, the flirtatious sun sets on a golden horizon. It casts the city in yellow lines and soft shadows, reaching Donghyuck as it filters through the trees, its warmth tickling at his skin. 

The sky is clear, save for two lonely clouds, which move with time toward each other until they’re irrevocably enmeshed. Donghyuck can no longer tell where one begins and the other ends, and he finds that rather beautiful. It makes him think of the statue in the gallery, and of a particular boy with dark hair. 

His grandmother hums a tune under her breath as they walk, a wistful tune that sounds just like the city. Donghyuck decides that this is where he wants to live one day. To live in a city that feels alive, as if beating with its own heart. And perhaps, somewhere along the way, he can find someone with a heart just like his own, too. Another cloud with which he can dance. 

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end!
> 
> I can't believe this story is over...thank you so much to all of you who have been along on this journey with me! your support and comments and messages have meant the world to me. this story has a very special place in my heart, and so knowing others were enjoying it as much as I was was surreal (and still is!) ✨
> 
> don't be afraid, though, I'm not going anywhere! I have three fics in progress that will be out soon. if you're interested, you can have a look inside my brain [here](https://www.pinterest.com.au/ophelialilies/boards/) !! all my wips are up there hehe
> 
> if you liked this chapter or story, please leave me a comment, I (as always) love to hear what you guys think. 💕
> 
> au revoir for now, and I'll see you in the next story!
> 
> merci beaucoup and I love you all so so so much 💕🌷✨
> 
> in the mean time, come talk to me ! [twitter](https://twitter.com/ophelialilies) and [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/ophelialilies)


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